In Restless Dreams I Walk Alone
by the morrighan
Summary: The second of the two stories set in the future.  This one is about the evolution of John Sheppard.
1. Chapter 1

In Restless Dreams I Walk Alone

It had to have been the scratches.

When John Sheppard thought back on it all he singled out the cause. It was the scratches. Had to have been. Long scratches across his right cheekbone, perilously close to his eye. He remembered the sting of the Wraith's claws as they slashed along his flesh. He remembered blood flowing from those four jagged cuts. He recalled shooting the Wraith at point blank range. The spray of blood showering him in a fine, crimson mist. He had briefly closed his eyes to protect them. Had wiped the spray of blood from his face, inadvertently mixing it with his own.

Could it have been that? Something so small? Something so inconsequential?

He remembered Moira fussing over him. Her gentle touches to his face, to the scratches. Her worried frown. Concern in her brown eyes. A trace of fear which she had tried to mask. Unsuccessfully. He had brushed it off. Unconcerned. The scratches had healed. He recalled her kisses along them. Soft. Gentle. All the while worrying, worrying. But nothing happened.

Not then.

His sons thought the scratches were cool. Well, Johnny did. He thought they showed how brave his father was. To go against a Wraith that close. Hand to hand. Seamus had cried. Cried at seeing his father hurt. He was the more sensitive of the two boys. Moira had consoled him. John reassured him that he was fine, that nothing could hurt daddy. Not for long, anyway.

Until this.

A month had passed. A month of daily blood tests. A month of analysis. He had been off active duty until Carson and all the rest of the doctors were convinced he was fine. That nothing foreign had entered his bloodstream. That the piggyback gene hadn't been triggered. It had been dormant for years. A leftover from a vicious attack by the progenitor of the species. One of the first Wraith who was not only an evolving Wraith but an Ancient endowed with a double ATA gene. Like his sons were. All the doctors had assured him he was fine. He had resumed active duty. But Moira wasn't convinced. Worried about him. Insisted on more tests, more detailed analysis. More data. He had refused.

He should have listened to her.

Instead he ignored it. Ignored her concerns, brushing off her worries. Even snapping at her on occasion. He preferred to believe the doctors. He felt fine. Everyday life got back to normal. As normal as it got in the Pegasus galaxy. Leading missions with his team. Forging alliances against the Wraith. Against the Genii. Running the city under the aegis of Richard Woolsey when John was really in charge. He had almost forgotten about the scratches. Had shoved it to the back of his mind. Too busy to worry about something even the doctors couldn't find. Too busy doing his job. Raising his sons. Being with his wife. Too busy to note the tiny changes. More energy. Quicker reflexes. More acute hearing. More sensitivity to light. More sensitivity to smells. The tastes of food and drink more intoxicating. The taste of his wife when they were intimate more erotic, enticing. There was nothing to notice.

Until the scab reappeared on his arm.

"The scab's back."

Moira Sheppard looked up from her data screen at the terse comment. John was standing nearby, eyes on her. Long lean form encased in his familiar BDUs, except the black shirt was long-sleeved. His gun was holstered low on his thigh, the double straps encircling his gray pants. She switched off the computer. Stood. "Excuse me?"

"The scab. From Elia. Look." John sauntered to her. Movements almost lazy, belying his worry. He slid up his sleeve, extended his arm to show her. The ugly scab was a knot of pale, pale flesh on his otherwise healthy skin. A blot on his inner forearm.

Moira stared. "You...how?"

"I have no idea. You tell me. You're the biologist."

She grabbed a pair of latex gloves. Pulled them on with a snapping sound. Drew him to a table where a magnifying light stood. She moved his arm under it. Touched the scab carefully. He exhibited no reaction. She prodded it. "It doesn't hurt?"

"No. Not at all. I only noticed it today. I didn't want the boys to see," he explained.

"Have you shown this to Carson?" she asked, prodding it again. It was hard to the touch. Solid.

"No. I wanted to show you first, Moy. What the hell is going on?"

"I don't know." She met his gaze, frowning. "How do you feel, John?"

"Fine."

She sighed. "Could you be more elaborate? Do you feel any differently?"

He smirked under her annoyance, but sobered as he considered the question. "Yeah, actually. Better. Stronger. I can hear better, see better, smell better...and I don't get tired that often. I even could...oh shit," he realized.

"You need to see Carson now!" she flared. She freed his arm, yanked off the gloves. "How long have you been feeling these things?"

"I don't know. It was subtle. Maybe a week...or two," he sheepishly admitted.

"John! Damn it, John!" She glared at him.

He shrugged. "I didn't think anything was wrong, Moira! Until I saw this. Out of the blue. Why would this reappear now?"

"I don't know! I'm not a medical doctor!" She sighed. "We need to see Carson ASAP. Let's go, flyboy!"

He smiled. "Yes, Mrs. Colonel," he agreed as she took his arm, led him out of the lab. "Where are the boys?"

"Playing with the other children. This may be nothing, John. A residual effect of the attack, or some allergic reaction to, to..." she spluttered.

"I don't think so, Moy, and neither do you."

"No," she was forced to admit. "But it doesn't make any sense, John. Unless the piggyback gene has been activated and is presenting like the retro-virus that infected you years ago."

"Don't remind me. I have no wish to star in a remake of _The Fly_," he jested.

She ignored his attempt at lightening the mood. "But it shouldn't be affecting you like that! It's an entirely different genome. Elia was pure Wraith, even more than Wraith when she infected you, but the progenitor was entirely different. More human and proto-Wraith and something else besides...we still haven't figured out half of the genetic data we were able to acquire and the–"

"Do you know how sexy you are in that white coat and when you talk all sciencey?"

"John!" she scolded. Moira's mind was working furiously. "It's different enough so it shouldn't have the same affects. We will need to examine the DNA again, run a cross comparison to your own and to Elia's and to a normal Wraith's. There should be significant differences in the–"

John caught her suddenly. Shoved her gently against the wall and kissed her. Drew back, green eyes glittering. "I want you in nothing but this fucking lab coat. Bent over the fucking table. That fucking pert little ass for the taking. Now!"

She touched his chest. "John...John...okay, but let's see Carson first, all right?" she reasoned.

His grip gentled. He blinked. "Okay. I...shit." He freed her, shook his head. "Enzyme?"

"Probably...or just you being you, sweetie. Let's go." She took his arm again. Led him down the hallway. Ignoring the shiver of uncertainty that chilled her.

"Sorry, Moy. I do want that, though. It's one of my fantasies. Taking you like that, baby. The scientist and the soldier," he reminded.

"All right, sweetie. After this," she soothed, to keep him calm. Compliant.

"Wow...you must be worried if you are agreeing to kinky sex that quickly," he jested. But his own worry surfaced, fueled by hers.

Carson Beckett removed his latex gloves. "All I can say is we were lucky. We caught it in time."

Moira was silent. Sitting in the infirmary. Waiting. Tense. Nervous. Keeping Seamus on her lap as the little boy snuggled against her. Johnny was in school, but Seamus was still too young to attend. Moira stared across the room. John was prone on a bed. Carson stood near him, adjusting an IV. John appeared irritated, impatient. He glanced over to see his wife and his son.

"Are you sure?" she finally asked. She stood. Setting the little boy onto his feet.

"Yes. Almost done now, colonel." Carson removed the IV. Stepped round to a console and began to interpret the data as it filled the screen. "A brief flare-up. No doubt the residual affects of the infection somehow triggered an adverse reaction, but we've contained it."

John sat, stood. Flexed his arm, scowling. "That's what Moira said...sort of..." He picked at the bandage over the scab.

"Daddy! Daddy, daddy!" Seamus cried, toddling towards him.

John smiled. Knelt and caught the little boy. Hoisted him up into his arms as he stood. "Hey, buddy. I'm fine. See? All better now." He kissed the teary-eyed boy who clung to him. Dark hair and features matching his own.

"Daddy! Daddy hurt. Daddy got hurt!" he pouted.

"No, sport. I'm fine. Easy now. Nothing can hurt your daddy. Nothing." He watched Moira as she approached. Her gaze raking over him, every inch him, but not in a sexual way, which he would have welcomed, but in a scientific way.

"John." She touched his arm. The bandage. Serious concern on her face.

"It's fine, Moy, you heard Carson. Treatment worked. Right, doc?"

"Just checking now, John, but yes. That scab will fade in a few days."

Moira moved past him to the doctor. "Carson?"

"It is working," he insisted, glancing at her. "Just as I suspected. The stem cells of the Iratus queen bug are attacking the virus genome."

"But it's not the same, is it?" she asked, voice lowering.

"No," Carson had to admit quietly. "The DNA is different. The enzyme is different. This strand was pure Wraith, plus the retro-virus. But now...this is something else, from the progenitor. In many ways it is the same, but it's not. Still...we will keep monitoring."

"But John doesn't have a double ATA. He, he won't turn into a, a Wraith, will he?" she whispered.

"No. At least not a Wraith as we know them. As the others did. Remember that the doubles were tampered with genetically, in ways that we haven't quite deciphered yet. Resulting in their evolution to the Wraith species. Nothing like that will happen to John."

"Then what will happen?"

"Nothing. As I've said, the treatment is working."

"And if it doesn't? If he has a relapse? What will happen?" she persisted.

Carson met her gaze at last. Held it. "I...I don't know."

"Mommy, mommy!"

Moira whirled, hearing her son. But the child was smiling, still clinging to his father. "Seamus?" She met John's cool gaze. He had heard every word, no matter how low their voices had been. No matter he was a few feet away from them. She recognized the glower on his handsome face.

"Daddy all better!"

"Yes, honey, he is." She turned back to Carson. "Prognosis?"

"We continue with the treatment, just to be sure. See where it leads, if anywhere. I'll take blood samples every four hours."

"Rapid generation?"

"Possibly, but contained."

"Stop it! I hate that damn shorthand," John snarled. Approached, son in his arms. "Well? Can I go now, doc?"

"You can go, John. Be back here in three hours."

"Let's go, John." Moira took Seamus from him. "It's all right, honey. Daddy has to get back to work, as I do. You should be in your playgroup now with Johnny. See? Everything's fine now, Seamus. Back to normal." She kissed him, but her gaze lingered on John.

On his arm.

On the scab until he yanked down his sleeve, hiding it.


	2. Chapter 2

In Restless Dreams I Walk Alone2

He couldn't remember.

He looked round the cell where he was sitting. But couldn't recall why he was put there. Or even when. It was a daze, a dream. Blackness where his memory should be. The force field was a blue haze, blocking him from escaping. He could make out the forms of two marines at the doorway to the cell. P90s held nervously. They avoided looking at him. Avoided looking at each other.

As if they were afraid.

He flexed his hands, looking down at them. One normal. Human. The other Wraith-like. Scales on his skin, a bluish tint. Fingers ending in sharp, black nails. His hand mutating again. Like he was. Outwardly. Inwardly. But this time it was different. Not like when he had the retro-virus in his system. This was something new. His flexed his fingers again. His. But not his. Almost as if an independent entity was inside of him. Trying to fight its way out of him.

He stood. Springing to his feet in a single, graceful motion. Feeling the need to move, to walk, to run, to pace. He eyed the dimensions of his cell. The force field glimmering. Trapping him, containing him. He wondered why. Wondered what he had done. Thoughts spinning to Moira, to his sons. They should be here with him, but they weren't. He wondered. A cold dread seized him. He eyed his hands again. Expecting blood, but there was none. What if something had happened to them? What if he had done something to them?

What if he had done the unthinkable?

John was running. Running through the upper levels of the city. Bursting with energy, vigor. He ran, easily outpacing Ronon Dex who lagged behind him. Sweat trickled down John's back, sides, striping the gray t-shirt he wore. His gray running pants snug, clinging hotly to his pumping legs. But he wasn't tired. Not at all. He felt exhilarated. Strong. The scab had been gone a week now and all treatments suspended. He was back to normal.

Except he wasn't. And he knew it.

He ran, ran, trying to work off the excess energy. He paused, breathing lightly. Heat pounding through his skin, his muscles. His heart a steady beating, not strained at all. He smirked. Wiped his brow. Trickles of sweat glistening on his jaw, his neck. Thoughts turning to his wife. Moira. To taking her with this vibrant energy. Taking her repeatedly. He licked his lips. Ran back the other way, one goal in mind.

Moira had just left the boys with their playmates. To learn and to socialize. She was briskly walking down the hallway, mind on other things. When she was grabbed. A hand clamped over her mouth. An arm round her waist. She struggled, but was pulled into a room. Spun and shoved against a wall as the door closed. She stared, relaxed. John smiled at her. Freed her mouth to kiss her. A long, savoring kiss. Demanding. "John?" she gasped when she could. Pushed at him, startled. He was sweaty. Smelling of musk, of maleness. Brilliant green eyes glittering as he stared at her. Her fingers slid down his damp t-shirt. His cock already erect, poking her through his sweat pants.

"Moy. Time to play what fits where," he teased. Voice low, husky, sending shivers along her skin. She shoved as his voice crawled over her. Making her react. Body tense, tighten.

"John...John, where have you been?" she managed to ask.

"Running. Still lots of energy, baby." He kissed her. Hands sliding along her body. "Moira."

She returned his kisses. Shifting as his fingers caressed between her legs, probing. "John, now? Here?" She glanced round the room, having no idea where they were.

He chuckled. A low, sensual sound. "Now. Here. So fucking sweet, baby." He slid his hands up under her shirt, her bra. Caught her breasts and fondled. Gently squeezed as his mouth caught hers again. Tongue darting, teasing.

Moira caught his hard, hard length. Squeezed to make him groan. He jerked in her grasp. Hot. Eager. "Sweetie? Are you sure you're all right?"

"Fine. Horny as hell, but fine. Full fucking throttle, baby. Get naked." He slid his hands free to yank off his shirt.

Moira stared at the sweat glistening on his flexing muscles, his long, lean torso. Sparkling in his dark chest hair. She followed a bead of sweat as it slid down a nipple, down his waist, following the trail of hair that led into his sweat pants. Where his erection waited impatiently. As impatient as the rest of him. She kissed him, shoving her body into his. Unable to resist. Kiss after kiss until he yanked her hair free from the ponytail. Freed her to stare. Licked his lips. "John?"

"Strip. I want you every fucking inch of you, baby. Fuck you smell ripe. Drenched. Mine."

She swallowed but he smiled. Kissed her again. Gentle kisses turning to passion, need. She freed herself. "Where are we?"

"Does it matter? I need you now, Moy. I want you under me, begging me to stop. Begging me," he growled.

She glanced round the shadowy room. Tempted. Wanting. Concern evaporating as arousal flooded. She smiled. Kissed him again. "Okay, sweetie...but this has to be quick and–"

"Hell, no, Moira," he argued, pulling her into his arms. Fingers tugging at her clothes. Impatient to remove them. To have nothing between them. To have flesh on flesh. "Not until I have expended all of this energy. Not until you beg me, baby. Beg me."

Moira stirred. Shifted. She felt lost. Lost in a daze. John's weight was pinning her down. Heavy. Hot. Sweaty. She blinked. Found her wrists tied to the bedpost, bound on either side of her head with her bra. She tugged, tugged, but couldn't get free. She shifted, but couldn't move much. John a dead weight on her as he snored, oblivious. She looked round the room. It was darker now. She wondered how much time had passed. How many hours. "John? John?"

She tried to move. Found her legs spread wide under him. Entangled with him. She tugged harder at her bonds but she was tied securely. Tried to remember but all the sex had blurred together into one long, frenzied coupling. On the floor. Against the wall. Finally the bed where he had tied her, taken her with such lengthened precision she nearly had begged him to stop. The orgasms coming fast and furious, drowning her in sexual bliss, in raw physical sensations that had overwhelmed her. Her throat felt scratchy from all the exclamations. "John!"

John snorted, woke. Feeling her buck under him, or try to, but he didn't budge. Not an inch. He smiled. Still entwined with her. Recalled the sexual excess, exuberance. Taking her on the floor. Practically ripping off her clothes. His. Taking her against he wall, so passionately a framed picture near them had fallen to the floor. The sounds of glass shattering only turning him on even more. But it still hadn't been enough. Not until he had tied her to the bed. Had run his mouth all over her, then his hands. Had brought her repeatedly, finally pounding her into the bed as he expended all his energy, his lust. Exhaustion had claimed him at last and he had succumbed to it. "Huh? Oh." He reached up, lazily untied her wrists. Ran his mouth along her bare inner arm, nibbling the tender flesh. "Baby."

"Damn it, John! What the hell was that?"

"It's called sex, baby. Are you sure you are a biologist?"

"Shut up! The boys!" She pushed. Flustered by the vigorous, repeated sex. His seemingly insatiable appetite. Waves of pleasure, passion, possession culminating in a climax that had left her helpless, inarticulate.

He rolled off her. Sighed happily. Stretched languidly. "Fuck that was good. Pure fucking, Moira. No complications. Damn I could use a beer, though." He caught her arm as she sat, scrambling. Trying to find her clothes. "Did I say we were done?"

"Shut up, sweetie!" She pulled, trying to get free but his grip was firm. She relented. Slid over him, kissing him. Kiss after kiss, pressing her body to his. John's hold relaxed. Fingers sliding along her bare back, tangling in her long hair. Down to her rear to squeeze and squeeze. Moira murmured, squirming on him. Legs opening as his cock stirred under her. She freed his mouth to kiss along his scruffy jaw, throat. Circled his ear and bit. Bit again. Hard.

"Ow!" he complained, swearing as he freed her. She scrambled off the bed, yanking on her underwear, her clothes. Furious. Satisfied. Amazed.

"Damn it, John! We can't be screwing in someone else's room! We can't be having sex for hours and hours! What's gotten into you?"

He gave her a lop-sided smile, hair wildly askew, body lounging on the bed as if it was his. He sat and pulled on his underwear, his clothes. Lazy. Unconcerned. "What's gotten into you, baby? Oh yeah, that's right. Me. Repeatedly. So fucking sweet. And mine. Since when can't we have hours of uninterrupted sex?"

"The boys!" she hissed, not looking at him. Scrambling now to find her shoes.

"Are fine," he countered. "Trust me. And who gives a shit whose room this is? This is my city, baby. Mine." He stood, caught her before she could flee. "My Moira. Mine." He kissed her.

"Sir?"

Moira froze in his arms, breaking from the passionate kiss. Thankful they were both fully clothed now, but the bed behind them was a mess. John looked over as Jason Reynolds entered his room. His gaze widening. He paused, seeing the glass on the floor. Seeing the bed in wild disarray. Seeing his commanding officer locked in an intimate embrace with his wife.

"Oh. Hi. Now we know," John said mildly. "Let's go."

"Sir?" Jason repeated.

"At ease, major. We're at ease now," John jested with a smirk. "Aren't we, Moira? Let's go, sweetheart." He led her out of the room. Laughed heartily once they were down the hallway.

Moira whirled to face him. "Damn it, John! It's not funny!" She glared, hands on hips.

"Yes, it is, baby. If he had been only a few minutes earlier he would have seen quite the show. A few seconds earlier and he would seen that pert little ass in all of its glory on top of me, huh? But no one gets to see that fucking sweetness but me."

She hit his arm, not amused. "What the fuck is wrong with you, John?"

"Nothing. You certainly weren't complaining earlier," he countered. Smiling at her. Finding her anger as arousing as her embarrassment.

"Well I am now!" She stormed away from him, loose hair flying wildly.

"Pert little ass!" he called after her, baiting her. Enjoying the view as she strode away from him.

"Shut up, sweetie! Fucking soldier!" she rejoined over her shoulder.

"You just did, baby! Repeatedly!" he called after her. Laughed again. Stretched, flexing muscles. Felt refreshed. Revived.

John began to run once more.


	3. Chapter 3

In Restless Dreams I Walk Alone3

He shouldn't have come back.

He realized this now. As he paced, paced in his cell. Too late he had realized it. He folded his hands together, the human and the mutated one under the long sleeves of his cloak. Yanked the hood over his head, self-conscious again. The mutations. Changing him once more. Although the scab had come and gone whatever this thing was it was still inside him. Had been all the while when he thought he was better. When everyone had thought he was better. Healed.

All but Moira.

She had suspected, but he had ignored her. Again. Until his temper began to flare to the surface all too easily. Not towards her or his sons but towards everyone else. And then the physical changes had begun. Subtle, at first. Another scab here. Some bluish tint to his skin there. Not painful. Not even noticeable, at first.

His senses were becoming more acute. Sight. Hearing. Smell. Reflexes lightning fast. But his hungers were growing as well. Eating. Drinking. Sex. He always wanted more. Tried to curb his need, his lust but finding it difficult to do so. It made him irritable. Made him flippant. His emotions were more easily coming to the surface. Usually he could control them. Keep them to himself, bury them. It wasn't as easy anymore. As if the virus had lowered his shields. Corrupted his control somehow.

He didn't like being out of control.

He recalled lashing out during a mission. Hitting a man. Flinging him across the clearing with tremendous strength that had required little effort. He paused in his pacing. Had that been the crime that had landed him in this cell now? No. He remembered the man was fine, if shaken. Rattled, bruised, but alive. He remembered the decision to leave, before he hurt anyone else. It had been his decision, to leave, to undergo the course of treatments Carson had proscribed.

It had been a bad decision.

Moira sat with the boys in their room. Her arm around each one, comforting. Consoling. Two little versions of John, their features mirroring his. Their dark hair. Their strong profiles. Their stubbornness. She kissed them. "It's all right, I promise. Daddy will be fine. He just has to go away for a little while. Only a few weeks at the most."

"Is daddy sick?" asked Johnny. Face screwed up in consternation.

"Daddy can't sick!" Seamus declared. Clinging to his mother.

"Daddy is a little sick," she explained gently, "but he will get better. He has to go away for a little while to go get better, and Uncle Carson is going with him." She hugged the boys to her. "Don't you worry, darlings. Everything will be fine."

"Mommy...mommy, daddy don't feel right," Johnny confided in a whisper. His blue eyes wide, full of serious concerns.

"Doesn't," she corrected, "and no, he's not right. There's a sickness in him. Changing him. You can sense that, Johnny?"

"Yes, mommy. He...he isn't all daddy," the little boy confessed. Frowning.

"Mommy!" Seamus began to cry, not understanding. Green eyes filling with tears.

"Ssh, ssh, honey, your daddy will be fine," she soothed, kissing the younger child. "I promise. Your Uncle Carson is going with him to make daddy all better."

"Are, are you?" Seamus asked, teary-eyed.

"No, honey. I'm staying here with you two." They both relaxed, snuggling with her. She kissed each one. "We have to be brave while daddy's gone. Okay? We need to look out after each other, all right? I'll be working to help daddy too. There's nothing to worry about, I promise."

She stared at the wall, forcing a calm she did not feel. Comforting the little boys clinging to her. Depending upon her. Much as John was to help him, and to look after his sons.

"When, when go daddy?" Seamus asked, sniffling.

"Tonight. It will be all right."

"Can we, can we say goodbye?" asked Johnny, beginning to tear up as well.

She kissed him. "No, darling. Daddy said it would be better this way. Okay? You don't need to say goodbye because daddy will be back before you know it. And he won't be far from us. Just on another planet."

"Through 'Gate?" asked Seamus.

"Yes, honey, through the Stargate. To the Alpha site. We can talk to him and see him through a video link. Now...let's get you ready for bed, all right? I have to see daddy off, but Aunt Katie will be here to tell you a bedtime story."

"Mommy, no. Mommy." Seamus hid his face against her.

"What is it, honey? Don't you like Aunt Katie?" The little boy was silent. She frowned. Kissed him. "Johnny?" she asked, eying the older boy.

Johnny shrugged. "I dunno. Sometimes he does, sometimes he don't."

"Doesn't. You have to tell me, Seamus, when you are ready, all right?" The younger boy nodded against her. "Aunt Katie is our friend. You don't have to be shy around her, all right? She is a friend of your Uncle Rodney's too. And you like Uncle Rodney."

"I like Uncle Rod," Seamus agreed with a smile, meeting her gaze at last.

She smiled. "All right, then. See? Now let's get ready for bed. We have a busy day tomorrow, loves. Good little boys need to get their sleep."

John stood, uncomfortable. Aware of the stares. He turned, trying to shield the visible mutations taking place. Wishing he had a long coat, or hood. Anything. He shoved his mutating hand into his pocket. Briefly smiled, feeling the silky smoothness of Moira's panties hidden there. He eyed the Stargate. Soon it would be taking him to the Alpha site. Already supplies had been loaded and taken there under Carson's supervision. Medicines. Treatments. Restraints.

Guards.

"John, are you sure about this?"

He turned to see Richard Woolsey approaching. Worry on his face. The inevitable curiosity and shock before it was subsumed under a more neutral expression. Richard had not been here the first time so the changes were new to him. Disturbing. Reading the report was one thing. Seeing it in person was quite another. "Yes. It's safer this way. For everyone."

"Don't worry, John. I'll look after Moira and the boys while you are gone," Rodney McKay assured. His worried gaze assessing his friend. "You'll be back to normal in no time!"

"When was he ever normal?" jested Ronon as he joined them.

"You will recover, colonel," Teyla Emmagan comforted. "You are strong. Stronger this time, and Carson has treated you successfully before."

He nodded. Touched by the concern of his friends. How they hid their dread, their consternation. He looked past them suddenly. Waited. Could sense his wife approaching even before she had appeared. Could feel her stride, her warmth emanating towards him like an invisible wave. Her scent on the air, only noted by him. His friends parted, moved away to give them a moment as Moira reached him. He touched her arm with his human hand. "Moy. I'll be fine. Don't you worry."

"I know, John." She hesitated, eying him. "Are you sure about this? We could just as easily treat you here. You don't have to go."

"I do. Have to go. I don't want anything like what happened to Davis to happen again. I won't risk you or the boys. Or anyone else."

"You wouldn't–" she protested, but he halted her words.

"I might. I can't risk it, Moy. You'll be vid-conferencing with Carson, right?"

"Of course, John. Every day. I've explained to the boys but they are not happy. Neither am I. John, you don't have to go!" She touched his arm, stepping closer. Beseeching with her gaze.

"No, Moira. I am going. I'll be back ASAP. Carson's treatments will cure me just like they did the last time. Dial it up!" he ordered, glancing up at the control room. Back to her. "You stay here and take care of our sons, Moira. I'll be back ASAP, I promise. I'm only going to the Alpha site."

"I know, I know, it's just..." She left the worries unsaid. The dread. She kissed him. Hand running up his arm to his shoulder. "I'll check in with you every day, John. As will the boys. We'll find a way to stop this, we will."

"I know you will, sweetheart. I'm counting on you." He smiled at her. "Don't you worry. Keep our bed warm for me, will you?"

"Of course, John."

"And the beer cold."

She smiled. "Of course, colonel. We can't have you coming home to warm beer."

"God, no! That would be truly horrific." He sobered. Kissed her. "I love you, Moira."

"I love you, John."

He freed her. Nodded as Carson stood near the 'Gate, medical kit in hand. He eyed his friends. The marines. Looked back at Moira again. "See ya, baby."

"All right, sweetie," she rejoined. Watched as he turned. Headed for the shimmering wormhole that would take him away from her. He stepped through without a glance back at her. She sighed, hugged herself as Carson followed. As Ronon and the guards followed. As the wormhole evaporated to nothing.

As she was left alone.


	4. Chapter 4

In Restless Dreams I Walk Alone4

He wouldn't be separated from her again.

As John paced and paced in the cell, trapped for some crime he couldn't quite remember, he decided. He would not go away again. No matter what. He would not leave his wife or his sons. They had accepted him as he was. That was all that mattered to him. He didn't care what everyone else thought. Could handle their hatred and revulsion.

Just not hers.

Moira wouldn't turn on him. Not like the others. Whatever he had done he knew they would turn on him for it. Despite not being himself, not being in his right mind. He wished he could remember, but there was only blackness where the memory should be. If it had been Moira or their sons he would have remembered. He knew that. So it had to be someone else. Something else. He shook his head as if to clear it. The drugs were clouding his mind. Making him lethargic. Forgetful.

Perhaps they had made him lash out uncontrollably. Like the last time.

John was restless. Sick of being poked and prodded. So much blood taken from him John wouldn't have been surprised if he ran out of the stuff. So many injections his right arm resembled a pincushion. Except it healed rapidly. He missed his wife. He missed his sons. His life in Atlantis. He had insisted on a recon of the planet, although there was no one else here. No one except John, Carson, Ronon, and two marines to guard him. Nevertheless he had insisted.

Carson had seen his need. Had agreed. Had only insisted that Ronon accompany him. John had reluctantly agreed, seeing no other option. He knew he could easily outpace the Satedan now, but didn't. Ever wary of the big gun at his friend's side. Set to stun. Or so he hoped. Sometimes he wasn't sure.

He could feel the changes. The back and forth interplay. Some recovery restoring him. Others not. The injections seemed to make him worse. Brought out more of the retro-virus, the Wraith aspects, but Carson insisted that the bug serum was the only way to cure him. The doctors all agreed. John had acquiesced, but he knew. He knew it wasn't helping him. Only in degrees, attacking certain aspects, not the whole thing that was trying to overtake him. Mutate him. Change him. The science was all babble to him, without Moira to explain it to him. So he stopped listening and tried to focus on other things. On getting better. On Moira. On their sons. On their life in Atlantis.

Moira had offered to come to him many times. He had refused every one of them. Had not wanted her to see him like this. Had not wanted her pity. Her sorrow. Craved her love but denied himself. Sparing her. Keeping her in Atlantis with their children. Where she belonged. Where he belonged, once he was better.

Or so he kept telling himself as days stretched into weeks and weeks into a month.

John squatted on the ridge. The fields spread below him, open empty spaces of amber grasses. Blowing in the harsh wind sweeping down from the mountains. He could smell rain on the air. The silence was heavy. Dismal. He flexed his hands at his sides. Wanting to rip into something, tear into someone. Vent his rage, his self-pity. Frustration. Despair.

He looked at his hands. One normal. One mutated into a Wraith parody, worse than earlier. Blue skin. Scales. Dark nails. Sharp and long. Primal. He touched his face. It was mostly human, but the Wraith scaling had grown, traveling up his neck to his jaw. Blue skin that was rough, harsh to his human fingers.

He dropped his hand to his side after yanking the hood of his cloak over his head. He scanned the terrain. But there was no one to fight. No enemy to engage. Not even animals to watch or record for Moira. Only the endless, endless silence. The soughing of the wind in the grasses. Like Moira's soft sighs of longing. Of sorrow. Long grasses waving like her long, long hair.

"Sheppard."

He stood. Ronon's voice rousing him from his morose thoughts. There was a mixture of compassion and wariness. No pity. That was a relief. He turned to his friend. Slitted eyes taking in the bigger man's strengths and weaknesses. The big gun at his side. "What?"

"We should get back. It's almost time for your next shot."

"Crap. I am so sick of needles," John growled. Resentful. His hands curled into fists but he forced himself to be calm. "Not yet." He looked back at the empty plain. Tensed. "Would you?"

Ronon quirked a brow, trying to assess the question. Realized. "Yes. If necessary."

"I thought as much." John eyed him again. "You'd make it quick?"

"You wouldn't feel a thing, Sheppard. I promise you. But it won't come to that."

"And if it does?" John persisted, having to know. Having to know that his friend could and would kill him if it did become necessary. If he did become a threat to anyone.

"Then yes. I will." The two men's gazes held, held. An unspoken understanding, respect.

"Sheppard! You should be back at the hut right now!" A marine ran up to him, grabbed his arm.

John moved quicker than thought. Purely on reaction. Resentment. He whirled, swung the man's arm backwards to make him cry out in sudden pain, then flung him across the ridge with a burst of energy. The marine landed hard, the breath sucked out of him. Prey. John pounced after him, finding a venue for his rage, resentment, fury.

"Sheppard!" Ronon was racing after him, drawing his gun.

John ignored him. "Don't you ever touch a superior officer!" he shouted, slamming fists into the hapless younger man who tried feebly to block the blows. "And it's Colonel Sheppard, damn it! Colonel Sheppard! Don't you ever disrespect your commanding officer again!"

A stun blast hit him. Another. Another. The fourth finally electrified him. Bolts of sizzling blue freezing his muscles, his mind. He fell to the ground heavily as the blackness consumed him.

John pulled at the restraints but they were firm. Binding him to the makeshift bed. He turned his head. Frustrated. Looked round the meager hut, trying to remember how he had gotten back here. Medical supplies proliferated. He looked at the IV. Yellowish liquid was dripping down the length of the tube into his arm. He flexed his fingers. Ran nails on the bed. Turned his head again to see Carson entering. "Hey! Doc!"

Carson neared, shaking his head. "Easy, colonel. Once the sedative makes you lucid I will free you."

"Where the hell am I?"

"Alpha site, colonel. Remember? For your own protection as much as everyone else's." A pause. "Although I will have to reassess any future excursions."

"Huh? Where's Moira?"

"She's in Atlantis with your sons, John. I can contact her through the 'Gate. Relax, John. You were lucky this time. Or rather Matthews was."

"What? It's...it's getting worse, isn't it?" He frowned, remembering. "Matthews. I attacked him."

"Yes, you did. Dislocated his shoulder and beat his face to a pulp, broken nose, broken cheekbone, but he'll survive. It took four shots to bring you down, John. It used to take just three. You seem to have stabilized. I mean you are not getting worse, but you are not getting better either, I'm afraid," the doctor had to admit. "I'm still working on it, John. We all are. We're not giving up. None of us are."

"Why isn't it working?" he fumed. Straining at the bonds again. "It worked before! The stem cells from the Iratus bug queen turned me back, damn it!"

"Yes, but this isn't the same retro-virus. It's not the virus at all. It is having similar affects but I don't know why. At best I am slowing it down or retarding its growth. But so far I can't...I can't reverse it." Carson's blue eyes were filled pity.

"No, no! What then? I'll be stuck like this forever? Half bug or Wraith or whatever?" John fumed. Furious. Horrified.

"We'll find a way, John, I promise," Carson assured, but his words sounded hollow. John could hear the real worry under them. The honest uncertainty.

John looked away from him. "Moira. You need to talk to Moira."

"I know. I am going to talk to her, John. Relax. We still have several options on the table. We just need to find the best course of action."

"The best course of action? Stop me from turning into a bug!" he flared, cursing. He stared at the hut's domed ceiling above his head. He looked over as Ronon ducked under the door, entered. Expression grim. Serious. "Ronon! Ronon, let me out of here now!"

"Not yet, Sheppard." The Satedan stepped to Carson. "I've sent Matthews on ahead to Atlantis. Perry's gone with him. They'll send two more replacements. How is he?"

"He'll be fine once the sedative kicks in. I've had to double the dosage." Carson sighed. "Help me set up the vid-link. I need to confer with Moira. And he needs to eat something."

Ronon glanced at his friend. John was glaring at them. Pure hatred gleaming in his mostly green eyes. Except they were slitted oddly. More like a Wraith's when the overhead lights hit them. His mutations were glaring. Areas of blue scales on his skin. Ronon looked at Carson again. "Can you cure him?"

"Yes. In time. I'll find a way. We've a whole team of medical doctors and biologists working on–" Carson began. Defiant. Determined.

"But can you cure him?" Ronon repeated. Already suspecting the answer.

Carson sighed. "Help me with the vid-link," he repeated sourly.

It was all the answer Ronon needed.

It was the answer that John dreaded. Refused. Hated.


	5. Chapter 5

In Restless Dreams I Walk Alone5

Suicide was not an option.

It never had been. Even when he had endured the worst of it. This transformation. The mutations making him into something else. More than human, more than Wraith. The idea of killing himself had never entered his head. He didn't want to die. He wanted to live.

Even like this.

He couldn't kill himself. He couldn't do that to Moira. He knew it would devastate her. Destroy her. He wouldn't do that to his sons. They would be irreparably harmed by it the rest of their lives. Always under the shadow of it, never escaping. Never understanding.

Or forgiving.

His family was everything to him. His support. His life. His whole world. He still marveled over them, his sons. Having sons at all. Children. A wife. A family. Something he had never actively sought. But now had nevertheless. He could not imagine his life without them. Without his sons. Little mirror images of himself. Not carbon copies but pieces of him reflected back to him. Pieces of Moira too. But they were themselves, developing their own personalities, their own traits, their own identities. He refused to live a life without his sons.

Or without his wife. Moira. A tide of possessiveness swept over him. His body warming at the thought of her. At the recollection of the sex they had enjoyed before he had committed whatever act that had landed him in this cell. That he had enjoyed, at any rate. Taking her. Her love welcoming, as welcoming as her body. No. He remembered her slight hesitation, her discomfort. It had only turned him on more, made the sex better for him. He knew it was wrong. Knew he hadn't hurt her, but he should have been gentler. Gone slower.

Instead of inflicting all those myriad, tiny scratches.

A smile came and went. Moira's love was a beacon to him. Always there, always shining in the darkest of the dark night. Even through this. Even through the rough, rough sex.

He blinked, chiding himself. Stopped pacing suddenly. Sniffed. Tilted his head. His pupil's contracted. Moira. Moira was coming to him at last. He could hear the tread of her shoes on the floor. As they stopped. He could barely make out her soft voice as she spoke. The emotional tones as an argument ensued. Hallways away from his cell. But she was coming to him. Coming to see him at last. He stood, trying to hear her. Listening.

Waiting. Waiting.

John sat. A headache pounded as the drugs made him lucid, held at bay the tide of transformation. Free of his restraints he hunched over the table. Gobbled the food in front of him. Big bites. He was ravenous. He looked up suddenly, hearing Carson's voice. The doctor was sitting in front of a data screen. Earpiece active.

"That's what I said, love," Carson repeated. Shrugged. "I'm transmitting the data to you now. We've been over this, Moira. The retro-virus carries its own genetic information in a simple strand of RNA rather than DNA in an enzyme called reverse transcriptase. The enzyme transcribes the RNA into DNA during infection of a host cell. The transcribed DNA is then integrated into the genome of the host cell. Effectively taking over."

"But you said it wasn't like that!" Moira complained, her ire loud and clear even over the distance between them. She sat in the control room, staring at the screen in front of her. "It's not the retro-virus, Carson!"

Hearing Moira's voice John froze. Wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He stood. Overcome with a desire to see her. He approached. Stopped. Suddenly shy. He grabbed a cloak, draped it around him. Yanked the hood to hide his face. Approached silently.

"I know that, Moira, but it is close enough that the treatments should be working!" Carson argued back at her, his frustration evident. "That's the problem. Lysogenics."

Moira frowned. "Crap. Are you certain?"

"Yes. The lysogenic cycle of reproduction of viruses. The viral genome was temporarily built into the DNA of the host cell."

"The piggyback gene?"

"Yes. It remained there in the form of a provirus or a prophage, replicating passively together with the cellular genome. It's an active virus now and cell lyses when the activation event occurred."

"The blood," Moira commented. "John and I narrowed it down to that. Unless it was something else, but I think the blood triggered the activation event. It's the only foreign substance that got into his bloodstream."

"I agree. That's the clincher. The additional Wraith DNA has mutated the progenitor's virus into something unknown and unpredictable."

"Are you sure about that, Carson? I mean the affects on the progenitor's...hang on. Boys!"

John was staring at Moira. She looked tired. Worried. Sad. Long hair a messy ponytail. Strands falling across one cheek as she turned. Clothes wrinkled, as if she had been sleeping in them. So beautiful to his eyes a lump formed in his throat. He watched her turn away, move off the chair. His two sons came into view. Playing a game behind her. Arguing loudly, little voices rising in disagreement. At her approach they quieted. Appeared contrite. John smiled, could only imagine her scolding them. He swallowed down the emotion, seeing his sons. Miniature versions of himself.

He looked over suddenly. Carson was watching him. Compassion in his blue eyes. He stood. Touched John's shoulder. "Talk to her." He stepped away to give them privacy. As much privacy as the vid-link would allow.

John swallowed. Sat. Watched as Moira settled the argument, dividing the game pieces on a colorful board. She returned, already talking.

"Sorry about that, Carson. What was I saying? Oh...the progenitor's DNA shouldn't have the same affect as the Wraith..." She sat, stared. Trying to see her husband's face but the hood cast it in shadows. "John?"

"Hey, Moy," he greeted meekly.

"John." She scooted closer, voice lowering. "Are you okay? Let me see."

"No. I'm okay. The boys?"

"Missing their father. So am I. We're getting there, John. We're eliminating what it isn't so we can focus on what it is."

"Well...that's...encouraging..."

His tone made her briefly smile. "John." She touched the screen. As if she could reach him.

He raised his hand there, yanked it back as it was the mutated one. Raised his human one to hers. As if he could feel her warm flesh instead of the cold monitor. He saw the sparkle of tears in her brown eyes. Her sudden gasp as she glimpsed more of his face. More of the mutations. He drew his hand away. Yanked the hood to cover more of him. "Moira."

"Daddy! Daddy, daddy!"

John drew back from the screen as Johnny was peering up over the table into the monitor. Nearly snubbing his nose on the keyboard, squinting to see. Blue eyes intense, curious.

"Daddy! Daddy, daddy!" Seamus cried, climbing up into Moira's lap. His green eyes widened as he stared at the strange, shadowy man on the screen.

"Hey, guys," John greeted past the gut-wrenching pain in his heart. "Are you behaving?"

"Yes, yes, daddy!" they assured, eyed each other as if for confirmation.

"Look after mommy for me, boys. That's a direct order."

"Daddy, when home?" Seamus asked.

"Soon, buddy." He stood, moved out of view. Emotions strangling him. Choking. He stared at the floor, mastering himself.

Carson moved back tot he chair. Sat. "Why, hello there, lads," he greeted, as if nothing was wrong.

"Uncle Cars!" they chorused, smiling.

"Let's go, boys. Uncle Carson and I need to talk," Moira stated. "Give me a minute."

"Of course, Moira." Carson waited, glancing behind him. John had moved across the room. Seemed drawn in on himself as he sat on the floor. Turning away from the screen. From his wife. From his sons.

"Bring him home."

Carson stared at her. "Excuse me?"

"I said bring him home. This has gone on long enough, Carson. I can see that the treatments aren't doing any good. You haven't made any progress except to stabilize him. Is that not so?"

"Yes, but he's still–"

"Don't care," she argued. "He is himself now, right? Mentally? That's all that matters now. We can continue our work here, find the right formula to cure him. He needs to come home."

"And if he relapses?" Carson asked quietly. Glancing back to see John lost in himself. Appearing oblivious to the conversation.

"He won't. And if he does we will be prepared. We can isolate him here. Carson, please. Something isn't right here and you know it. He needs to be here."

"And what about the boys?"

"They'll adjust. He's their father. They need him, no matter what. And John needs his family. Now more than ever. It will expedite his recovery, being back home. With us. His family."


	6. Chapter 6

In Restless Dreams I Walk Alone6

He was a monster.

Physically, at least. He stepped to the back of the cell, suddenly uncertain. Shy. Despite the intimacy he had shared with Moira. Her acceptance. Her love. He gingerly touched the mutated skin on his neck, his arm. They seemed worse after yet another treatment. Lesions developing. Rough to the touch. Foreign. Not him. Not his. Yet his all the same. He would have to tell Moira. She would know what to do. What was wrong.

If she could forgive whatever crime he had committed.

He looked like a monster. Was afraid he would scare his sons, but apart from being startled they were more curious than afraid. Little stares taking it all in, as much as John would allow them to see. He was still their father, after all. Still daddy. Always would be. He wondered what Moira had told them, to gain their acceptance. Their trust undimmed. The monster in their midst being their own father. At least physically.

But he didn't feel like a monster.

He had, once. Lost in the shadows, the darkness within. Locked up tight, the horrible memories. Horrible guilt. The grief and guilt over his mother's death. Her murder. His culpability, although he had only been a child at the time. But he had been negligent. Thoughtless. Selfish. The guilt gnawing at him year after year, despite how deeply he buried it. A pariah even to his own family. Much like he was a pariah now in Atlantis. The guilt only increasing as death followed death, due to his negligence, his foolishness. Afghanistan. Antarctica. Atlantis. He was drowning in the darkness without even knowing it.

Until Moira.

She had absolved him. Empathized, having a similar darkness in her own past. A similar guilt and sorrow she could not shake, could not escape. She had been an outcast as well. Their guilty, dark pasts had bound them tighter than any passion, any other emotion. Her love had broken through his walls, his defenses. She loved him, even loved the darkness within him. He wasn't a monster. Not then.

Not now.

He was something else entirely.

John stood. Oddly nervous. He folded his hands together in the long sleeves of the cloak. Head bowed under the hood. Concealing himself as much as possible. "And, and Moira wants this?" he asked. Half afraid to believe it.

"Yes, Carson assured. Smiled. Packing up yet another medical kit. "She wants you home. We all do, colonel."

"Even, even like this? I mean..."

"Even like this, yes. You've a long road ahead of you, John, I'll not deny it. But you need to be with your family. Your friends. And frankly I need my infirmary in order to treat you more effectively."

John nodded. Still uncertain. He glanced at Ronon. The Satedan's expression was unreadable. "They, they won't trust me. Not after Davis. Not after Matthews."

"No, they won't," Ronon agreed. "Trust must be earned, Sheppard. But you will earn it back."

"The important thing is that Moira and the boys need you. You are recovering, John...the rate of mutation is stabilizing. I believe I can reverse it if only given time."

"Recovering?" John muttered, dubious. "Or evolving?" he whispered. Knew he had to ask Moira. Talk to her. Be with her. He wondered if his sons would fear him. "Johnny and Seamus...they won't..."

"Moira will explain it to them. They're young enough to accept and understand," Carson soothed, guessing the unspoken question. The unspoken dread. The doctor touched John's arm. "You are their father, John. That is all that matters to them."

"Let's go home," Ronon stated. Hefted a case.

John nodded. Silently followed his friends out of the hut. Towards the Stargate. Towards home.

Moira stood on the southwest pier. She stared ahead at the sunset. A violet sky over turquoise waters. A thin line of gold hovering on the horizon, descending slowly. To either side of her stood her sons. Each little hand securely clasped in hers. Both were dressed alike, blue t-shirts and jeans. Both were nearly mirror images of the other. Youthful versions of John. Down to his wild hair and impatient expression.

"When, mommy?" Johnny asked, staring at the water.

"Anytime now, Johnny," she soothed.

"Daddy come home!" Seamus exclaimed, staring up at his mother.

"Yes, Seamus. Daddy is coming home." Her voice broke and she forced a wave of emotion back. Her grip tightened on their hands, as if afraid to let go. She frowned. Felt a wave of deja vu, as if this had happened before. A memory. Of a nightmarish future. She pondered this, the thought distracting her as the Jumper veered over the city. Settled to land on the pier. A more secluded place than the crowded 'Gate room.

The hatch opened. Moira nearly ran but caught herself, pulling the boys to her. Ronon stepped out, moving to her. Face stern. "Ronon?"

"Things...are worse. Are you sure you want them to see?" he asked, glancing down at the two little boys.

"Worse? But the..." Despair. She forced it down. "Yes. They must. They'll have to get used to the, the changes." She looked next to her. Rodney had run to her side. Concern on his face.

An honor guard appeared as Evan approached. Marines at his back, forming a quick phalanx around Carson and the man with him as they exited the ship. The men's expressions were grim. Dour. Boot steps clomping towards them now. Escorting the hooded, cloaked figure with lurching steps.

Moira gathered the boys to her, arms enfolding them as Ronon stepped to her other side. Rodney glanced at the children. "Moira, are you sure you want them to–"

"Yes!" she hissed. "He is still their father, no matter what!" she snapped fiercely. "Still my husband. My John." Yet she swallowed. Wondering how worse off he was.

John paused a few feet from her. Staring at her, at his sons. His heart hammering. His throat dry. "Moira," he said. Voice nearly a guttural noise. Face hidden by the hood.

"John...oh John, I'm sorry! So sorry! You–"

"Moira?" John repeated, stepping to her now. He clasped her arms suddenly. One human. One gnarled with long, dark nails that bit into her flesh. Blue scales mingling with human flesh.

"Yes, John. Can you ever forgive me? I thought...I thought it would work!"

He kissed her suddenly, a hard pressure of his mouth on hers. Moira tried not to gag at the roughness. The scales. The scars. The sharp teeth, rough tongue insinuating its way into her. She choked, coughed, but he freed her. Almost turned away in shame. "Sorry," he muttered. Abashed. Alarmed.

Moira touched his arm. Kissed his lips gently. To reassure. To console. "It's all right, John. Let's go. Say hi to daddy, boys."

"Hi daddy," Johnny said, staring in wonder.

"Hi daddy!" Seamus said, hugging his father's leg.

John felt tears but forced them back. "Hey, guys. Let's go," he echoed his wife. Glanced at Rodney. At Ronon. Saw their consternation, their pity. "Let's go," he repeated gruffly.

Moira took a hand of each boy and led them off the pier. John followed on her heels.

Moira sat on the bed. Tucked Johnny into the blankets. Seamus next to him. "All right, now. It's been a long night, hasn't it?" The little boys nodded. Each clad in pajamas. Johnny's had planes on blue fabric. Seamus's had cars on red fabric. "I know a lot has happened, but daddy is home now. Do you have any questions?"

Johnny considered, brow furrowing. "Mommy, will, will daddy get better now?"

"Yes, in time," she assured. "He came home so we could make him better faster. Here. And because this is his home."

"Mommy, daddy sick?"

"Yes, Seamus, but he will get better, I promise." She kissed each one, voice softening. "Remember what I told you earlier. Don't be afraid of daddy. He loves you. He won't hurt you. Ever. He may, he may look...different now...but that will change, in time. And even if it doesn't he is still your father and he loves you." She kissed them again. Stood. "Now go to sleep. Everything is fine now."

"Goodnight, mommy," Johnny said, relaxing.

"'Night, daddy!" Seamus called with a smile.

Moira smiled. Crossed the room. Switched off the light. Closed the door behind her. She swallowed, nervous. John was sitting on the bed, his back to her. He had yet to remove the cloak, the hood. She walked over to him. Stood in front of him. "John."

He looked at her. "Turn off the lights."

"No. You don't need to hide from me, sweetie." Nevertheless she dimmed them. Returned to stand in front of him, waiting. Heart skipping a beat in dread.

"It's...it's worse. The treatments...they aren't...they..." He paused. Swallowed. "I don't want to see pity in your eyes, Moy."

"You'll only see love, John. Only how very much I love you," she soothed.

He smiled, but said, "you didn't sign up for this. Hell, neither did I. For better or worse doesn't quite cover this one."

"It does." She touched the hood. He flinched, but didn't stop her. She pushed back the hood.

John met her gaze, bracing himself for her reaction. Heart pounding at the fear of rejection, or horror. Moira stepped closer. Ran her fingers through his dark, disordered hair. She had been warned, but had not been expecting the drastic alterations. The rapid acceleration of his mutations. She touched his cheek. His throat where the blue scales lined his skin. Almost up to his ear now. She sat close. Leaned close and kissed his mouth. His lips were still full, still perfect. Still human. She sat back. Gaze assessing now. The scientist instead of the wife. "Well?" he asked at last, trying not to squirm under her stare.

She shrugged. "I've seen worse, flyboy."

"Gee. Thanks for that, baby."

"Let me see all of it, John. Trust me. Are you in any pain?"

"No...well...after the injections, yeah. Like my body is fighting itself. But after that...no. Moira, no one will listen to me," he complained. Needing to unburden himself to her. Delay the inevitable as the cloak still enfolded him. Hid all of his changes.

"I'm listening, John. Talk to me now," she soothed, serious. "Tell me everything while you remove that. You don't need to wear that around me, sweetie. It's all right, John. Take everything off, sweetie. Everything. It's all right. I love you, John. Talk to me. Show me. We'll find a way, I promise."

John hesitated. Stood. "The, the treatments, Moy. They don't work. I mean they seem to work, at first...but they don't. I can feel it, Moy. I can feel it not working. Only, only speeding things along, I swear. And I feel sick afterwards...the injections. Something's not right there, Moira. But Carson is bound and determined to follow this course of treatment, because it worked last time. But this is different, right? You said so yourself. Different genome and stuff, right? It may look the same, but it's not. It's not." He removed the cloak. His fingers shook. He stilled them. Trusting her. Wanting her. Wondering if she would ever want him again.

Moira stared at him, watching as he sat to remove his boots. Socks. Stood again to undo his belt. Turning so she wouldn't see his mutated hand. "You're right, John. It's not the same. Similar...but it shouldn't be. Not really. A different kind of virus. Not manufactured like the retro-virus was, but something else. From the progenitor, combining with your own DNA and then the Wraith's that attacked you."

John steeled himself. Removed his shirt. His back was to her. He removed his pants. Stepped awkwardly out of them. Hands pausing on his blue and white striped boxers. "Yeah," he agreed, needing to fill the silence. "It's different, like I said. The treatments aren't." When her hand ran up his back he almost jumped. Froze. Her touch gentle. Warm.

Moira caressed. From behind he appeared normal. Human. Broad shoulders. The strong lines of his back. Firm rear encased in the shorts. Strong long legs, but she could see some scaling at his ankle. Strong long arms. There was some blue Wraith skin at his side. She stepped closer. Planted a soft kiss on his bare shoulder. "It's all right, John."

"No. It's not, Moy. I...I don't want you to see me like this. To see me at all." His voice was terse, but Moira could hear the need, the desperate need.

"I want to see, John. Trust me." She pondered how to put him at his ease. How to distract him. Knew what she had to do. She quickly slipped off her clothing. Removed her underwear. Freed her hair. "John, look at me. Please, John...turn to me. It's all right, I promise."

John hesitated, hesitated. Took a deep breath. Released it. Slowly, slowly turned to face her.


	7. Chapter 7

In Restless Dreams I Walk Alone7

He didn't like waiting.

He resumed pacing, wondering at the delay. He knew Moira was coming to him. She was engaged in some kind of argument now. He tracked the rise and fall of her voice. The cadence of anger, sorrow. Recognized the man's voice who was arguing with her. Lorne. He scowled. He wouldn't let anyone keep her from him. No one got between them. No one.

He wondered if that was why he was in the cell.

Had someone intervened between them? Tried to keep Moira from him? Tried to dissuade her from being his wife, his lover? He had killed men for doing less. Trying to come between them. Daring to threaten her or cajole her. Or hurt her. A memory glimmered. Something to do with Moira. With Seamus. The little boy had needed protecting. But from whom? Or what?

He prayed it hadn't been himself.

It couldn't have been him. He would never hurt his sons or his wife. And Moira was coming to him now. Arguing on his behalf, no doubt. She had accepted him. Accepted him in every way. Every way. A salacious smile came and went when he recalled the sex. Sex with Moira, even as mutated as he was. She had given herself to him freely, with love, sensing his need. The desperate need to be normal, to be accepted, to be loved even like this.

Even when he didn't deserve it.

John stood near the bed, the worry on his face replaced by surprise, then hunger. Moira was completely naked as she gazed upon him. The dim light threw shadows along her curves, but John could see well enough. Even better as his pupils contracted. His gaze roved over her long, loose hair as it swirled around her. Strands falling across her bare breasts. His gaze lingered, then moved lower to more intimate areas. He licked his lips.

Moira studied him. Touched his chest gently. One forearm was a tangle of blue scales and bumpy lesions which he had not had earlier. The Wraith mutations extending down to transform his entire hand. His chest was normal, but his waist was beginning to become altered, especially on the right side. Below that he was fully human, even to the partial erection her nudity was engendering. She smirked, despite the circumstances. "I see some things never change," she gently teased. Met his gaze.

John met hers. Smiled. Touched her side with his human hand. "Moira...I...oh fuck...I..."

But she flung herself onto him, kissing him. Ignoring the roughness, the oddness. The different taste of him, feel of him. He was still John, no matter what changes had occurred.

Suddenly any restraint John had broke. He shoved her onto the bed, slid on top of her. Kissing her eagerly, grunting as his mouth and hands wandered. Wanting. Needing. Forgetting any reluctance, any concern, any self-conscious worries. Moira surrendered to him. Ignoring the distaste. The abrasion of the scales on her skin. His roughness. Tongue thrusting into her mouth. Body on hers. Hands grabbing, clasping. One human. One not. She steeled herself. Opened her legs to him. His scales slithering on her tender skin now. His sharper teeth nipping at her breasts, then lower, lower.

John heard her soft noises, the discomfort. Didn't care as he was being driven by pure need, pure lust. He rubbed his cheek, his jaw, his scaled throat along her skin. Driven to distraction by the feel of her. Soft skin. The scent of her familiar. Home. His. He nibbled along her mound and she squirmed, tiny sounds of either protest or worry or discomfort issuing from her. He inhaled deeply. Pausing to run his tongue along her mound, up to her belly button. He paused. Lifted his head to see her watching, brown eyes wide. He smiled. "You're ovulating."

"What?" she stammered, shocked at the comment.

John didn't wait for a reply. He lifted, thrust into her at last. Hot. Eager. Groaned at the feel of her enclosing him, taking him. The slight resistance only turning him on, making him more determined. Eager. He thrust hard, harder. Paused suddenly. Met her gaze. "Moy? Are...are you sure about, about this?" As if a trace of his humanity had suddenly surfaced.

Moira met his gaze, tensing. Staring. His eyes were cat-like, slitted. The shadows crossing his body, concealing the more human aspects and revealing the Wraith ones. A weird parody of her husband making love with her. She drowned his concern in kisses. Taking his face between her hands and guiding his mouth to hers. Making soft sounds to arouse him. "John, oh John, oh John," she whimpered into his ear. Circled and bit the way he liked.

John grunted. Eagerly thrusting now, rubbing his body along hers again. Scratching her skin over and over as his mouth took hers, nibbled at her throat. Trying not to bite. Wild motions of his body on hers, in hers. Taking. Giving. Tongue flicking on her skin. Nails running along her side in a parody of hers running up his back. Then down. The bed rocked, jolted by his momentum. Enthusiasm. Need.

Moira clung to him, pulling him closer, closer still. Wincing at the scales scratching all over her skin. His tongue licking at the scratches now, slithering over her breasts until he arched and drove into her repeatedly. She held nothing back as she gave herself to him. Gave him her body, her love. He was creating pleasure in wave after wave.

He came suddenly. A harsh ejaculation inside her. A hard, jerking thrust. He shuddered, growled harshly. Fell upon her, still moving in her. Moira blinked back tears. Stroked his back, his hair. She kissed his hair as he pillowed his head on her breasts. Tongue flicking lazily at the tiny scratches. Tiny lines of blood. His breathing calmed, calmed.

"John?"

"Moira," he muttered. Closing his eyes to just feel her. Feel her pliant, soft body under his. Bathing in her love. In the sex. But he frowned. Slid out of her. Lifted to see her face. "You didn't come."

"It's all right, John."

"No! You always come. So fucking sweet."

"Ssh." She touched his lips. Heart almost breaking over their perfection. Unmarred by the virus. Yet. "Don't you worry, sweetie."

"I'll make you come, baby. I promise. Give me...give me...five."

"Ssh, sweetie," she cautioned. Glanced at the closed door where the boys slept. To the other door where she knew a marine had been posted. She bit her lower lip, worrying.

He kissed her. A long, slow kiss, savoring the taste of her. But he freed her mouth. Tilted his head. Suddenly looked at the door. Moira's fingers tightened on his arm.

"John?"

"Ssh." He shifted on her, loath to move. His eyes glinted in the dim light. Muscles poised like a cat ready to pounce. "Fuck. Fucking bastard," he muttered.

"John? It's all right, sweetie," she tried to soothe. Caressing his arm.

He met her gaze. Assessing. Lifted to view her body under his. Met her gaze again. Scowled. "No. It's not all right, Moira. Fucking eavesdropping on us now?" He moved but she stopped him.

"No, John. It's fine, okay? Let's just go to sleep now, okay?"

"No. You are mine. No one fucks with us. No one!" he growled. He kissed her. Slid off her. Moved with incredible speed and silence to the door. Stood listening.

Moira scrambled to sit, tangled in the blankets. "John, no! Please, come back to bed! John!"

He held up a hand to silence her. Sniffed. "Morrison. I can smell that awful aftershave he uses. Fucker." John moved back to the bed.

"Please, John, it's all right. Come back to bed with me. You'll frighten the boys. Please, John."

He ignored her. Pulled on his clothes, the cloak, the hood. Anger in every line of his body. He eyed her as she sat, blankets pulled haphazardly over her naked body. "You stay right there, baby. You are mine. No one is going to fuck with us."

"John! You can't–" she began to move.

"I said stay there!" he flared. Whirled and strode to the door. Opened it.

Michael Morrison whirled, startled. "Sir?" he squeaked, trying not to stare.

"Get the hell away from my room, Morrison," John growled.

"Sir? I was, I was–"

"That's a direct order from your commanding officer! Get away from my room!"

Moira had scrambled into a nightshirt. She ran to the door, pushing next to John. "It's all right, major. Go on. We're fine."

Michael stared at her. Her disordered hair, disheveled appearance. Tiny dots of blood could be seen on the nightshirt as it hugged her body. "Doctor Sheppard? You–"

"Colonel Sheppard is giving you a direct order, and if I have to say it again it will be the last thing you ever hear. Now go!"

"Yes, sir, yes, sir!" The marine stumbled away from the room.

"Mommy? Mommy! Daddy, daddy!"

Moira turned as John closed the door. The two little boys were lingering in the doorway between the two rooms. She hastened to them. "It's all right, darling. Honey, don't cry. Here we go now." She guided them back to their room. "Daddy was just upset at that man but he's gone now. Go back to sleep. Everything's fine now. Don't you worry." She kissed them, settling them back into their bed.

Once soothed she closed their door. Stood in her room. John was standing near the window. The room was plunged into darkness. He had removed the cloak but retained his clothes. She stepped to him. Touched his shoulder. "John? It's all right. Come back to bed."

"Did I...did I scare them?"

"Your raised voice did. That's all. They're fine now. Come on, John, please." She gently tugged his arm.

He remained where he was. Staring out at the night. The dark waters lapping the pier below them. He could hear the waves as if he was standing on the pier. He could smell the salty air if he inhaled deeply. "I...I don't know if I can do this, Moy," he admitted.

She slipped in front of him. Hugged him. "Of course you can, John. It just takes time. We will find a better treatment, I promise. We won't give up! You need to be patient."

His arms went round her. But he freed her, pushed her into the window. Glaring. "I'm sick of being patient, Moira! I'm sick of all of it! I may look like a freak but I don't feel like one! I feel fine! I've never felt better, except when I take those fucking treatments! Don't you dare treat me like I'm an invalid! Like I am anything less than your husband, your lover!"

She touched his chest. "All right, John. Of course not. I won't treat you any differently."

He released her. "Sorry. Let's go to bed, Moy." He drew her to the bed. "Moira...if...if you left me...I would understand. I would. I mean, if you left me...went to that other reality through the anomaly to be with that other John Sheppard...I mean he's a bastard and all but at least he's not mutating like I am. If you did that I wouldn't–"

"That's never going to happen, sweetie," she soothed. Knowing how much it had cost him to even suggest that. To let her go to his darker doppelganger. "Never. Let's go to bed, John. It's all right. We'll find our way, don't you worry now."


	8. Chapter 8

In Restless Dreams I Walk Alone8

He would have to leave Atlantis.

As he paced, paced the confines of his cell like a trapped animal he decided. It was simple, really. Quite clear. He would have to leave. He wouldn't be allowed to stay. Not after whatever crime he had committed. At best they would strip him of his command. Delegate his team to someone else. At worst they would keep him caged like this. Or sent to the Alpha site. Or worse still, sent back to Earth like some scientific genetic experiment gone awry. To be studied by the IOA and the NID and God knew who else. Dissected. Analyzed.

He'd rather face exile than that.

He knew Moira and the children would go with him. Wherever he went. She would insist upon it, as fiercely as she was arguing just now to see him. But he knew he couldn't allow that. As much as he wanted his family they would be better off here, in Atlantis. Safe. Secure. His wife could continue her work here. His sons could grow up safely in the city. The city that was destined to be theirs. Under their control because of their respective double ATA genes. He had to leave them. To save them. To save himself.

It was a bitter pill to swallow.

He tried to think around it. Find plausible reasons for taking his family with him. Logical ones, not emotional ones. But the reasons were selfish. Not in their best interest but in his. He sighed. The burden of despair weighing on him. The loss of Moira and his sons almost too much to bear. He had to let go of them. He had to lose them.

Before he lost himself.

Moira frowned. Blinked back her tears as anger replaced sorrow. She stood, hands on hips. Glaring. "No, damn it! I must see him! He won't hurt me! He didn't hurt me then so he sure as hell won't hurt me now! Get out of my way, Evan!"

Evan stood, blocking her way in the hallway. Just as angry. Recalcitrant. "No, Moira! I can't let you anywhere near him! Not after what he's done! He's a danger!"

"No, he's not. Not to me."

"Really? That's not what I heard. Morrison said you had pinpoints of blood all over your, your nightshirt. How could you...how could you sleep with him when he's..." The disgust was evident. Distaste.

Moira felt a blush on her cheeks, but replied sternly. "He didn't hurt me. He is my husband, Evan! Whatever happens he is my husband and I love him!"

"Even after this? How can you say that? Your friend is dead because of him!"

"I know! Don't you think I know that? He wasn't himself! We need to help him, not punish him! He didn't know what he was doing! Now let me through. You will not keep me from him!"

"He's a monster! OW!" Evan recoiled as she slapped him. Hard. The marines near the doorway lifted their weapons. Hesitated. Lowered them.

"Don't you ever say that again!" she flared, voice low. Deadly. She shoved past him, past the armed guards who quickly parted, seeing her ire. She entered the room. Calmed herself. Approached the holding cell. John was near the far wall. The blue force field cast long shadows over him, around him. He turned to watch her. He appeared alien. Exotic. He tilted his head. Took a few steps towards the door. Stopped.

"Moy?" he asked, voice low.

She stepped close. Sorrow on her face. "John. John...we're working on a stronger treatment. Don't you worry."

"What happened? Why am I in here?" he asked, honestly perplexed.

"You don't remember?" she tested.

"No. I...oh God. Did I...did I hurt you? The boys?"

"No. Not me. Not the boys," she assured. Could see the wave of relief sweep over him.

"Oh. But I did hurt someone?" he asked.

She nodded. Reluctant to tell him. "John, you need to relax. You'll need to be sedated to get you out of here. But then we will begin a new course of treatments. A different course. Here, in Atlantis."

"Moira, it's worse. The, the changes...mutations...worse after the, the last injection."

"I know, sweetie. I'm sorry. They won't listen to me, but they will listen now. You won't be having those injections again." She stepped closer, trying to see past the blue haze separating them. "We will figure this out, I promise you. No one will hurt you."

"Hurt me? Why would someone..." He stepped closer. "Moy? You've been crying. What did I do? Moy?" He touched the force field. It sparked. "Ouch!" He drew back his hand. Stared at it a moment. Met her gaze. "Moira. You can't keep me like this."

"For now we have to, John. For your own protection as well as everyone else's. But it won't be for too long. I promise. I'll find a way to cure you, John. There has to be a way." She began to step away from the cell. Away from him.

"Who was it? I hurt someone, right? Who? Tell me!" he demanded, anger flaring. About to hit the force field but he stopped himself. Arms upraised in fury. He lowered them, seeing her reaction. "Shit. Sorry, Moy, sorry! I'd never hurt you! Or the boys! Just tell me, please."

She swallowed. "Katie."

He stared, uncomprehending for a moment. Fearing it had been Teyla, or Rodney. He blinked. Hands flexing at his sides. Fingers curling, uncurling. "I...what? Katie? You mean Katie Brown? The botanist that Rodney used to date? I...I hurt her?" His mind spun.

Moira took a step closer to him. Voice soft, but he could hear it well enough. "No, John. You...you killed her." She turned suddenly, as three marines entered. P90s gripped tightly. "I'm coming! Just leave him alone for now! He's fine, he's fine!"

John stared after her. Shocked. Trying to remember. Pieces of memory flitting, flitting. "Moira? Moira? Moira!" The loss of Moira was more immediate as she walked away from him. "Moira! Moira!" His fists banged on the force field. It sparked, shocked him. He jumped back from it. Cursed. Saw the three guns trained on him. He paced, circling, circling. Trying to remember. Trying to remember. Trying to remember...

Moira slammed her open palm onto the conference table. "No! I'm telling you, no! We have the evidence right before our eyes! These current treatments aren't working! No more injections. At least not the stuff you've been giving him currently. They don't do a damn thing except make him worse!"

"Even more reason to move him to the Beta site," Evan offered, glancing round the table. Most were nodding agreement.

"No! He needs to stay here. You've said so yourself, Carson!" she argued.

"That was before he killed Katie," the doctor stated glumly. Nods around the table.

"That wasn't his fault! He wasn't in his right mind. It's not the Iratus bug cells that are the key. That much is obvious. Did you ever listen to him, Carson? Did you ever listen to what he was saying, is saying now? Those treatments are doing more harm than good. I still think it has something to do with the ATA, the jumping gene which is triggering some genetic switch with the progenitor's DNA to enable a whole new–"

"We've been over this, Moira, and it's still only a theory," Carson argued. He appeared sad. Resigned. "Frankly we need more time to research that and any other option before we proceed."

"You will have that time, doctor. But I must agree with Major Lorne. Clearly Colonel Sheppard poses a significant security risk," Richard Woolsey noted, not unkindly.

Moira frowned. "No. The treatments are making him irrational. Once he is weaned off those we can assess his blood work, and find a new, better treatment."

"Or he will completely transform into a bug!" Rodney exclaimed. Startling everyone, even himself by his outburst. He shrugged. "Sorry. But I don't see what difference it makes where he is as long as he is receiving some kind of treatment."

"We shouldn't have given him a massive dose," Jennifer Keller admitted.

"What?" Carson and Moira said at once. Eyed each other. Eyed Jennifer who almost squirmed in her seat.

"What did you do?" Moira asked, voice soft. Stern.

"We, we just..the last treatment...we...we increased the dosage. We theorized that perhaps he needed a massive, massive dosage of the stem cells to once and for all eradicate the, the virus! It worked in the simulation!" Her voice took on a whining tone. Defensive. "It should have worked!"

"It didn't. You gave him an overdose and he...oh my God...he..." Carson stared.

"You are responsible!" Moira pointed at the blond woman. "You made him do this! You overtaxed his systems with the treatment to the point where wasn't himself! He wasn't thinking clearly, acting purely on instinct! You sent him into overload! You accelerated the process but it wasn't the process of the progenitor but of the treatment! The fucking treatment which will turn him into some kind of Wraith if we don't stop it!" she realized. "You fucking bitch! You could have killed him!" Moira found herself restrained as she had been lunging across the table, furious. "Let go of me!" she flared, but paused as Ronon met her gaze, gentled his hold on her arms.

"Enough! It was an honest mistake!" Richard intervened, as Jennifer quailed under the other woman's anger. Under Carson's disapproving gaze. Even Rodney appeared disturbed. "It was a solid medical theory that didn't pan out! It's no one's fault!"

"She is to blame! She could have killed him! Don't you dare touch my husband again!" Moira ordered. Arms free of Ronon she stood, stopping the urge to throttle the other woman.

"You are off the case, Jennifer. That was foolish, if not negligent!" Carson agreed. "If I had known you were doing that I would have stopped you!"

"But it worked in the simulation," Jennifer repeated, cowed. She eyed the table.

"John Sheppard is not a simulation," Teyla stated, voice cold. Hard.

"Now what?" Evan asked, irritated. "There will be more violent episodes as you wean him off the drugs, right? He's barely lucid now, at times. If he gets loose he could do anything, be anywhere! He knows this city better than anyone, and has a deeper connection to it now because of those genetic interfaces he used to save it from sinking! We can't risk more lives!"

"We could post guards on him at all times," Teyla suggested, sympathetic.

"Won't work. He could elude them," Ronon refuted.

"Or kill them. Which is why he must be moved to–" Evan stated.

"No! He stays here and we will cure him," Moira asserted.

"I'm sorry, Moira, but I think that Major Lorne is right. We need him contained. But here," Richard decided. Raised his hand as Evan was about to vehemently protest. He met Moira's grateful look. "In an isolated part of the city. A secure holding cell. Take your samples and see if you can devise a cure, any cure. If not...then he will have to be sent into exile. I want armed guards on him at all times."

"It won't be enough. He is a danger to everyone here!"

"Thank you, Mr. Woolsey," Moira said, ignoring Evan's outburst. "Carson, work with me, please. We can sedate him and move him. Check his blood work and see where to go from there."

Carson nodded. "Of course, love. I'll have my entire medical team working on it, as they have been." He glanced at Jennifer. "I will go prepare the sedative. Moira, you had better be with us when we administer it."

"Yes, Carson. Thank you." She eyed John's friends. His team. "Ronon, please be with us. I trust you to keep an eye on John and not pull the trigger."

"Of course, Moira. I'll be there," the Satedan assured. Voice grave.

"Rodney, I..." She faltered. Words failing seeing his sorrow. His grief. Although he had broken up with Katie months ago it was still a rough wound. Made worse now.

"Don't." He held up a hand, halting her. Met her gaze. Shook his head. Stood. "I...I don't want to talk about it. Just...just cure him, Moira. And...and find out why. Why he did it." He glanced at Jennifer, left suddenly.

"Give him time," Teyla soothed, looking after him. "The shock is worse for him than for anyone else. Especially as it was John who, who did it. He will understand."

"Will he? I still don't," Evan grumbled. Shook his head. "To kill an innocent woman. Do you have any idea why? What would prompt such a violent act?"

Moira shrugged. "I don't know...but John wasn't in his right mind. He was drugged and not in control, because of her!" She glared at Jennifer as she retreated after Carson. "You can't blame him entirely. We will find a cure. We will." Yet she felt a shiver of doubt. Headed out of the room, muttering to herself. "We will find a cure...unless...unless there isn't one...unless...unless he doesn't need one..."


	9. Chapter 9

In Restless Dreams I Walk Alone9

He remembered.

John stared at the ceiling. Counting the tiles above his head as the slow drip, drip, drip of the IV filled his ears. He glanced at the yellowish fluid snaking down the tube into his arm. Another round of treatments. A modified treatment. He was prone on his back in the infirmary. In a room curtained off from the rest. He looked at the table. Moira and Carson were standing side by side, eyeing the monitor and speaking quietly. Other doctors swarmed around them, checking the screen, checking him, the charts, but he stared at his wife.

Moira appeared serious. Pensive. Her long ponytail falling against the white lab coat she wore. He imagined her naked under it. He imagined taking her by surprise, from behind. Fucking her in nothing but that lab coat. Bent over a table, pert little ass bare and ripe.

Moira frowned, seeing a spike in his readings. She turned, stepped to him. "John? Are you all right?" Her gaze ran over him. Past the mutations on his neck and jaw. His arm. He was shifting slightly on the bed. Her eyes lingered on his crotch. A slight smile came and went on her lips. She rolled her eyes, met his gaze. He smirked at her. "John," she said, scolding.

"Sorry. That sexy lab coat gets me off, baby," he explained.

She smiled. Leaned close. Touched his arm. "We can play the scientist and the soldier later, sweetie."

"Promise?" he asked, pouting.

"Yes." She lightly kissed his lips. Caressed his arm a moment. She straightened. "Relax, John. This is a modified version of the serum. Are you in any pain?"

"No. No pain."

"Good. Just relax." She moved back to Carson.

John watched them. They were intently studying the monitor. Voices low, almost too low for John to hear him. Almost. Jennifer moved to him, adjusting the IV. The flow increased, but John ignored what she was doing, more intent on his wife and the doctor. He felt a surge, a slight burning in his arm, but it passed.

Carson pointed. "You see this? It's reversing. Just like the last time. Initial success, but it is slow and never permanent. The viral genome abates, then returns. I think we are going about this the wrong way, Moira. You were right. But I'm not sure how to proceed."

"A massive dose," Jennifer interjected. Met their gazes. "It's the only way, right? I tried it on some cells and the effects were almost immediate. Instead of tiptoeing around the virus we need to attack it aggressively. Make it dissolve."

"It's too dangerous, and we don't know what the side effects would be," Moira rejected. "I still think we need to look at the ATA again. A blood transfusion. The double ATA will bolster his own and effectively kill off the invasive genome. Attack the mutated Wraith cells and whatever the progenitor is. Was."

"Or that could produce a massive backlash," Carson temporized. "I tried an inoculation of the gene therapy and it did nothing. Besides, the only possible donor with the necessary criteria would be Johnny, or Seamus."

"Why is that?" Jennifer asked, but was ignored.

"I know that. It's the only way, Carson. We have to try, at least. The bug serum isn't working. It's causing more harm than good. You can see that yourself!

"We could try an injection of a pure Wraith enzyme to counteract the–"

"You know that won't work! It has to be a natural double ATA to alter his–"

"Don't involve my sons."

Both turned. John was staring at them. Hands clenched into fists at his sides. Moira moved to him. Touched his arm. "John, relax. It may be the only way and it won't hurt them at all."

"Don't involve my sons," he repeated sternly.

"I will if I think it will save you," she countered, just as stubborn. "And it won't hurt them."

He sat. Moved to his feet, a fluid motion. The IV popped out of his arm, but he scarcely felt it. He caught her arm. "I said no, Moira! Don't involve my sons."

"All right, John. We can discuss this later," she soothed. Carson turned to intervene, touched John's arm. He was flung backwards, landing across the room. He crashed into a table of surgical supplies which clattered to the floor. "Carson!" Moira tried to move but John moved her backwards into a wall. Held her there.

"I said no. Don't involve my sons!" he growled. He heard a squeak behind him, identified it as Jennifer calling for help.

A gun clicked. "Sir? Colonel Sheppard, let her go!" Evan ordered. He replaced his gun with a Wraith stun weapon after a moment.

John ignored him. Gaze boring into hers. "Do you understand me, Moira? Don't involve my sons. If you do I swear I will never, never forgive you."

"Moira?"

"I'm fine, Evan. Stand down. John would never hurt me," she said, glaring at Evan over John's shoulder. She met her husband's gaze. "All right, John. I won't. We will discuss this later. If a transfusion will save you then you are going to have one."

"No. We are discussing it now and I said no. Not Johnny. Not Seamus. Got it?"

Moira hesitated. His hold was firm, but not painful. His gaze intense, eyes slitting as he viewed her. "John...if it is the only–"

"Got it?" he repeated. He could feel Evan behind him. Could almost taste the other man's eagerness to shoot him. Didn't care. Filed the information in his mind.

"Okay," she acquiesced. "For now we will–"

"Forever, Moira. Got it?"

"Okay, okay," she agreed. Needing to calm him, console him. There was an ire in his gaze she had never seen before. As if the treatment had exacerbated his emotions.

His hold gentled. He freed her. Turned to see Evan still aiming at him. Carson behind him being helped to his feet by Jennifer. "Stand down, major. I'd never hurt my own wife."

"I'm not so sure, sir," Evan countered.

"Evan! Of course he wouldn't!" She took John's arm. "Here. You need to continue the–"

"No." He freed himself from her. Snatched his cloak from the bed. "Fuck these treatments! You said it yourself, Moira, they are not working. Until you can find one that does just leave me the hell alone!" He moved away from her. "Get out of my way!"

"Let him go," Carson decided. He rubbed his head.

Evan stepped aside, gun lowering. John glared at him. "Sorry, doc," he gruffly apologized. Then strode out of the infirmary. Flinging the cloak onto himself once more.

Moira stared after him, then glared at Evan. "How could you do that?"

"He was hurting you."

"No, he wasn't! He'd never hurt me!"

"He was threatening you, Moira! Look what he just did to Carson!"

"No! He would never do that either, and that was an accident!"

"Yes, it was. I'm fine," Carson brushed off the concern. "Let's get back to work, love."

John stood in the shadows, two levels above where his sons played. Watching them as he brooded. As they kicked a ball around with other boys. Johnny was into the game, directing. Leading. Just like his father. Seamus was watching, uncertain. Hanging back from the others.

Johnny scored a point and accepted the accolades. Began another game. A quieter game. He tried to entice Seamus into it, but the younger boy was shaking his head. Refusing. Pointing. A few laughed as he stammered, stuttered. A few women moved to them to intervene. Shaking their heads, as if chastising Seamus. Katie Brown laughed suddenly. Seamus backed up, stammering. John could see the blush on his face from the shadows. Saw Johnny's consternation as he spread his arms in exasperation, much like John did.

Seamus abruptly ran out of the room. Clearly upset. John stood. Moved to shadow the little boy. Protective. Concerned. Angered.

Seamus ran. Toddling awkwardly as he crossed the halls of Atlantis. Unseen, unnoticed as he swerved round adults. Heading for his mother like an arrow. He knew where she was. The city had sensed his distress and had told him. He caught sight of her in another hallway, walking rapidly. "Mommy! Mommy, mommy, mommy!"

Moira whirled, moved to her knees as her son flew to her. Almost falling. He was in tears now. "Honey? Seamus, what's wrong?" She caught him, hugged him. Kissed him.

"Mommy, mommy!" he cried, clutching at her. Hiding his face against her. Mommy would make it all better. She always did. Always would.

"Ssh, ssh, honey. What's wrong? Are you hurt?" He shook his head. Sniffed. Silent. She gently stroked his dark hair, his back. Gently rocked him. "All right, Seamus. You can tell me later, all right?" She kissed the child. Considered. Drew back a little to see his face. "Honey, was it the other boys again?" He shook his head. "Was it Johnny?" Another shake. "An adult?" He nodded. "Okay. You can tell me later." She wiped the tears from his face. "Was it..." she paused. Froze, hearing a noise. She looked round. To the shadows. Someone was standing there. John. It could only be John. But she wasn't sure. She stood, lifting the child to her arms. Kissed him again. "It's all right, Seamus. Why don't you stay with mommy today? I could really use your help, honey."

"Okay, mommy," he sniffed. "Mommy, mommy, where daddy?"

She began to stroll down the hallway, away from whoever was lurking. "I don't know, honey. He's in the city somewhere. You can stay with me. All right? I need your help, Seamus." She kept talking, voice gentle. Soothing as the little boy held onto her, head on her shoulder. "You are very good at sorting things for me, aren't you? By color and by size. And by letters. In the bio lab. It will just be the two of us, Seamus. Just two scientists working."

"Okay, mommy." The little boy smiled. Content. "Mommy, I do the, the bottle letter and color things?"

"Yes, all those things. Sorting the colors."

"Reds!" he enthused.

She smiled. "Yes, honey. You like the color red, don't you? Here we go." She set him down, took his hand. Led him into the biology lab. It was deserted.

"Mommy, mommy, I wanna big chair!"

"Okay, honey. You get the big chair!" She placed a bolster seat on a chair. Swung him up into the air, making him giggle. She kissed him, set him onto it. "There you go, doctor." She set a row of vials in front of him. "A to Z, by red colors. Thank you for helping me, Seamus."

"I like help mommy!"

"Don't coddle him."

Moira whirled at her husband's voice.

"Daddy!" Seamus cried. He leapt off the chair. Ran awkwardly to his father. John scooped up the child and held him on his more human side. The cloak mostly enfolded him, the hood concealing his more disturbing mutations.

"John?"

"You heard me, Moira." He carried the boy to her. Seamus was quiet, staring. Chewing on his lower lip, uncertain of his father's mood. Daddy looked different now but was still daddy. Mommy had said so.

"He's fine, John. Don't you worry. He–"

"He needs to learn to stand up for himself. Like Johnny does." He eyed his son. "Seamus, what adult made you upset? What did they say to you? What did she say?"

Seamus quailed under his father's stern gaze. His once brilliant green eyes an odd mixture of gold and green. Slitted oddly, like a cat's. He looked at his mother. "Mommy?"

"No, you tell me, son," John insisted. Voice gentle, but there was an edge to it. Moira took a step closer to them.

"It's nothing, John." She touched her son's arm to reassure him. "Seamus is fine. Let him help me here."

"No. He can't be running to you every time he has a problem. Seamus, you tell me. What adult? Which one? What did she say to you? Seamus?"

"Mommy, mommy," the little boy stammered, out of sorts. Blushing.

"John, he won't tell you. Not like this."

"Mommy!" Seamus was going to cry.

John sighed. Handed the boy to his mother. The child clung to her, hiding his face against her. "Tell me."

"Ssh, ssh," she soothed, kissing the boy. Cuddling him. She met her husband's gaze. "John."

"Tell me now!"

"Later, I–"

"Damn it, no! I saw! I saw what happened but I need to know for certain! Tell me!"

"Mommy!"

"Sorry, sorry, son." John regretted his tone as Seamus whimpered.

Moira frowned. "It's all right, honey. Don't you worry. Daddy isn't mad at you. If you saw then why are you interrogating him? You have to approach Seamus differently from Johnny."

"I know! I know my own sons!" He cursed. The anger was a tide, a hotness assailing him. Irrational. The need to protect his offspring primal. Intense.

"John, please. Go back to the infirmary, or to our rooms. I can sort this. I'm sure it's nothing. You know how sensitive Seamus is. Go."

"I'll take care of this, Moira. No one threatens my son," he vowed.

She sighed. "No one threatened him, John. Please, go."

He went.


	10. Chapter 10

In Restless Dreams I Walk Alone10

It had been so easy.

Child's play. Satisfying. The memories flooded back to him. The way he had stalked her. Followed her. Tracking her by scent. Several levels above her, in the shadows, yet able to see her clearly, hear her clearly. Stealthy as a predator when instinct took over as he pursued her. Patiently waiting for an opportunity when she would be alone. When he could confront her about upsetting his son. His little boy. Causing tears and only adding to his shyness.

He had only intended to talk to her.

He shadowed her as she went about her daily tasks, oblivious. Checking with a technician over some computer problem. Eating lunch with some friends. Women chatting over nothing, about nothing. Nonsense to his ears. Sighing after Rodney as he was eating his lunch with that blond doctor again. John found her longing amusing. Pitiful, when she was the one who had broken up with Rodney. She was the one who had rejected his proposal, however ill-timed. She was the one who had thrown him towards another woman. He felt anger over that. The heartbreak of his friend. Yet another crime to be laid at her door.

Another reason to confront her.

All the while John waited, waited. Waited for the right moment. The image of his crying son fresh in his mind. The image of Rodney's sorrow. But it was when he heard his wife's name from her lips that the pent-up rage took over. The fury unleashing in him. A violent storm of anger and hatred and defense at any cost. At all costs.

She never should have talked about Moira.

"Daddy?" Johnny was in his room. He turned as his father approached. An oddly cloaked figure but his daddy nevertheless. He felt the weird resonations that told him daddy was different somehow. But still daddy. Mommy had said so.

John eyed his son. "Junior. What's wrong with Seamus?"

"Huh? Oh...you mean...why he don't play?"

"Yes, why he won't play. I saw. Are the other boys mean to him?"

"Sometimes, daddy. But I look after him."

"Good boy. What happened today?"

"Today? He...um...he didn't want to play ball 'cause it's too rough. Kick hard. I scored! And we play catch then but he wouldn't 'cause he's not good. Clumsy."

"I see. And the other boys make fun of him and laugh, right?" Johnny nodded. "That's only to be expected, and he must learn to face up to them. What about the adults? Do they laugh too?"

"Um...um...yes, sometimes when he, when he stutters."

"I see. And that makes his stammer worse, doesn't it" Johnny nodded. "And he gets all shy and confused and unhappy. Of course he does. What did Katie say to him? She laughed at him."

"I...um.."

"You can tell me, son. I'll make sure it doesn't happen again. So?"

Johnny hesitated. Uncertain of his father's mood, although his voice was level. "Um, she was trying to talk to him. Make him play with us. Said he, um, he was being a baby. Made Seamus cry 'cause we were all staring at him and he hates that. He does! And then he tried to talk but stammered so bad...they laughed. She laughed but it wasn't mean. She tried to, to be like mommy but she's not mommy so Seamus ran. Where is he, daddy?"

John tensed. It took all of his self-control not to lash out, not to yell. A rage filled him. He forced it aside, not wanting to frighten his son. "With mommy. He's fine. Run along to them now, buddy. Bio lab. Don't you worry. Daddy will take care of this. Don't you worry."

"She should leave him." Katie turned, vial of amber liquid in her hand. "I'm serious, Julie. At least temporarily. Moira can't handle both him and the children. It's too much to ask of her."

Julie Armstrong shook her head. Blond hair bouncing. "She'll never do that. They'll find a cure. Moira won't stop until she does."

Katie shrugged . "And if she doesn't? I'm just saying it's taking a toll on her. On the boys. You can see that. We all can see that. Perhaps it would have been best if they had left him on the Alpha site. This is the last of it. We have no more enzyme of any kind."

Julie took the vial. "Then I hope that Carson can perform a miracle. Moira won't stop, Katie. She won't. And don't even suggest that she leave John. She won't take it kindly, however intended."

"I know." Katie sighed, pushed a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. "She can't see the bigger picture because she is too close to it." She turned back to the table. "I might have something else. I'll check the plants here. A stronger sedative or mild dosage." She kept talking as Julie left her. "If the enzyme doesn't work I don't have many options. It is a unique plant but we don't have an endless supply of it and–" She cried out as a Wraith hand grabbed her arm.

John spun her round. "Where?" he croaked. "Where's Moira?" He had been listening. Plotting his words, his moves, but when he heard her talking about his wife, about taking her away from him any reserve he had broke. Any reason snapped at the thought of someone, anyone taking his wife from him. Taking his sons. Taking his life. Breaking his little circle.

"I...I don't know!" Katie exclaimed, but it was hard to speak as John's mutated hand went around her throat. Her eyes widened in shock, in terror.

"Where is she?" he growled.

"I don't know! Colonel, please, we are trying to help you!" she strained. Gasping for breath as his grip tightened. She pried at his alien fingers uselessly.

He tilted his head. Eyes slitting. "Help me? I don't want your help! I want Moira! You will not take her from me!"

"I don't know where she is! Please, you're hurting me!" she cried, struggling. Her hands dropped to her sides as his grip tightened. Tightened. It was difficult to breathe. And the sight of the mutations this close, the sight of the hostile irrationality in his eyes scared her.

"Hurting you?" he mocked. "You are the monster, not me! Not me! You made my Seamus cry! My youngest son shattered by your laughter! You broke Rodney's heart! My best friend devastated by your callous disregard! You told Moira to leave me! You told my wife to leave me! That will never happen! Never!"

"Colonel..." Katie rasped, as she was being lifted, lifted. Her feet left the floor. Dangling helplessly as he held her against the wall, higher. Grip tightening. Pure fury glinting in his alien highs. Pure strength in his alien hand, his alien arm. Instinct driving him to protect. To eliminate all threats. Any threats.

His long, sharp nails dug into the tender skin at her neck. As his grip tightened, choking the last breaths. Strangling the last words. Her eyes were bulging. Her face turning blue at the lack of oxygen. The pain a hot slice on her neck. The puncture marks from his nails producing spurts of blood. Crimson against her pale, pale skin.

John was squeezing, squeezing without even being aware of it. H is mind a black fury. He didn't even recognize Katie anymore. She was just the enemy. A threat to his son, to his wife, to his friend, to himself. A nobody who didn't even possess the ATA gene and therefore was of no use to the city. He adjusted his grip. Turned his thumb. He heard the satisfying crunch of bone.

A single snap. Severed vertebra. Death was instantaneous. Quick. Painless.

Over.

Her head lolled to one side, tongue beginning to protrude. Eyes still bulging. He heard a sound behind him, a noise caught between a gasp and a scream. John dropped Katie like a rag doll. The body fell lifelessly to the floor. He turned. Turned to see Moira staring, frozen in place. Aghast. Her mouth open. Eyes wide.

"Moira. Moira?" He began to move towards her, his anger evaporating as the sight of her calmed him. Restored him, and he felt a wave of uncertainty. Could not remember what he had just done, why she was staring at him with such abject horror. But marines were rushing past her now. Shooting at him. The Wraith stun blasts hitting him once. Twice. Three times. The fourth finally brought him down. Enveloped him in a blue frenzy of electrical shock. He fell to the floor. Darkness taking him.

The cafeteria was silent. Solemn. Moira kept her sons close. Johnny sat next to her. Seamus sat on her lap. The boys were eating their dinner, subdued, curious. Wondering at the atmosphere. Moira had no appetite. The image of John snapping Katie's neck like a twig killing any hunger. His furious expression melting into a haunting one of need, of confusion before he had been stunned imprinted on her mind. Her hand shook. She stilled it. Nibbled on a piece of toast if only to keep her strength up for her sons. For her husband. For herself.

She looked up as Evan took the seat across from her. His expression grim. Pained. But he smiled at the little boys. "Hey, guys."

"Hey, Uncle Evan," Johnny replied quietly. Glancing at his mother. Seamus was silent.

Evan waited until the children were distracted by the chocolate cake he had brought them. Two big slices which he placed near their trays. "Tomorrow. They're sending her back to Earth tomorrow. After a, a brief memorial service."

Moira nodded. Felt the burn of unshed tears behind her eyes. "Is, is Rodney–"

"No. He refuses to go. Woolsey's not going to force him by any means. But Woolsey's going, of course. As is Julie. Some other botanists."

"Leaving you in charge of Atlantis," she stated.

"Yes."

"Daddy in charge of Atlantis," Johnny stated.

"Yes, Johnny, he is. But when he's not I am," Evan explained.

"And, and John?"

"Imprisoned, for now. Out like a like. It took four stun blasts, Moira! Four!" Evan sighed, ran a hand through his hair. "It's...unprecedented."

"I...I should go, go talk to Rodney..." she realized, blinking back tears. "But I can't leave them."

"Don't. He knows."

"Mommy, can I have piece?" Seamus pointed.

"Yes." Moira scooted the piece of chocolate cake closer to her younger son. Johnny was already devouring it in big bites. "There you go, honey."

"Daddy in charge of city and the city knows it," Johnny asserted between bites.

"Yes, darling, it does, and he is. Don't you worry now," she soothed. Sighed. "Once the boys are settled I'll go help Carson. This doesn't make any sense, Evan! To lash out that violently, for no reason? Something has changed, drastically changed!"

Evan nodded. "If you can't narrow it down I'll have no choice but to exile him to the Beta site. I'm sorry, Moira. He's left me no other option now." He stood. "Boys, take care of your mother."

"Yes, Uncle Evan," they chorused. Faces smeared with chocolate icing.

Evan smiled at them. "Good lads." He met Moira's gaze, held it a moment. Then was gone.


	11. Chapter 11

In Restless Dreams I Walk Alone11

He woke.

He had been dozing, squatting on his haunches. The memory of Katie's murder leaving him drained. Dry. Horrified at what he had done. What he had become. A true monster. He looked at his hands. Hands that had killed. And had enjoyed killing. He sighed. Looked up, over at the cell door. Wondered when Moira would return to him. Wondered if she would ever forgive him. Wondered if anyone would. He shook his head, as if to clear it of the memories. The guilt. The odd resonation of satisfaction from that primal, darker self he kept buried.

It was then he noticed the bump on his palm.

He stared at it, uncomprehending. Until his mind told him what it was. What it could be. A Wraith sucker developing. His heart raced in panic, agitation. But he forced himself to be calm. He licked his lips. Glanced at his watch suddenly. He had missed a treatment. At least two while he had been imprisoned. And he felt...he felt fine. The mindless rage was gone. Exorcized in the violent murder or by the electrical shock he didn't know, wasn't sure. He heard boot steps. Jumped to his feet. Listening.

He closed his eyes, concentrating. Military. Precise footsteps. Anger in every footfall. The weight of a P90. The scrape of military BDUs. His senses told him who it was. So did logic. He opened his eyes. Startled by this heightened sensitivity, knowledge.

Instinct.

"You want to send me away again."

Evan halted near the cell. John was standing near the door, watching him. The hood was thrown back, revealing his startling transformations. His hands folded together under the long sleeves of the cloak. He nodded. Stepped closer. "You haven't left me any choice, sir. Not after...this. Even if a cure can be discovered..." he paused, shrugged. "As of now I am officially relieving you of command, pending further notice. You will be sent to the Beta site, for now. For everyone's protection. Even yours." Anger surfaced, was gone. "Carson is developing a line of new treatments but the initial effects could be deleterious."

"Moira?"

"She is as well. I'll come back with her, and with Carson. We'll need to sedate you before they can begin a new course of treatment. In here. After that we will sedate you again and take you to the Beta site for further...treatment."

"Moira?" he asked again.

"She will stay here with the boys. You won't be allowed near them. Sir." An afterthought.

John smiled. "I see. You really think you can keep me from them? From her?"

"Yes, sir, I do. And I will. To protect them."

John stepped to the door. He tilted his head. Eyes slitting. "You want them. For yourself. Won't happen. Ever."

"Don't be ridiculous, sir! But don't worry. While you are gone I will make sure they are taken care of."

"I bet you will, major. I bet you will."

Moira sighed. Shoved the microscope away from her. Rubbed her weary eyes. Sore muscles screaming in her shoulder, her neck. But she ignored them. She closed her eyes, hiding her face in her hands. As if she could hide from the grief over Katie's murder. Hide from the progression of her husband's transformation.

She paused. Uncovered her face to stare at nothing. A transformation. A metamorphosis embedded in his very cells, his DNA. Evolving into something unknown. Not human. Not Wraith. Not even the progenitor but something new. Unique. Unable to be stopped unless the key could be found. The trigger, the switch to halt the virus. To reverse it.

Or not.

"Anything?"

She turned, moving to her feet. Evan neared, watching her. "I...where?"

"The cell. It's for the best, Moira. Before we move him to the Beta site. What is it? You have that look," he accused.

Moira blinked. "I..." She checked her watch. "How did John seem?"

"Seem? Arrogant. Not at all repentant. It was eerie, really. Like he knew I was coming to see him before I even got there. Like he could read my thoughts. He looks worse, too. Alien. Why? What is it, Moira?"

"I..." She looked at her watch again. The clock. "He's missed two treatments. That's it! Carson and the rest, they won't listen to me, they won't listen to him...but this virus isn't a virus! At least not in the conventional sense!"

"I'm not following...so it's an infection or a–"

"Sort of, but not quite. I should have realized before this!" She began to pace, hands moving in the air. "It's not a mere mutation of cells or a lysogenic genome! I think this thing, the original infection from the progenitor of the species was triggered into action by the Wraith blood that mixed with John's own. And the ATA...it sped the process along, controlled it until...until the treatments! The treatments interrupted the process! It triggered the wrong switches! The whole evolutionary development!"

"Whoa, wait!" Evan caught her arm, halting her. "Are you suggesting that Sheppard is...is evolving?" he asked slowly.

"Maybe. And there's only one way to find out. You are not sending him to the Beta site!"

"Moira, I am!" He walked with her as she exited the lab, carrying a case under her arm. "I don't have a choice, Moira!"

"Yes, you do, Evan! Let me test this theory first. If I am right he won't be danger any more."

"And until you can unequivocally prove that to me he must leave Atlantis! And you won't be going with him! Hell, I don't want you to risk seeing him now!"

"Evan! You can't keep me from my husband! He won't hurt me. Sometimes I wonder if you want him cured."

"What? Of course I do!"

"Do you?" she challenged, stopping to face him. "You are in command of Atlantis now."

"I want him cured, the same as you!"

"Not the same as me," she countered.

"Where are the boys?" he asked, shoving aside her suspicion. It oddly mirrored John's and he felt a wave of consternation. Of chagrin.

"In their room."

"Alone?"

"No. What concern is it of yours?" she snapped.

"I just don't want you to lose sight of them in your quest to save Sheppard!"

"You bastard! You think I would forget my own children?" she flared. "You–"

"Moira! Moira, are you okay?"

She turned. John's voice was strident. Evidently he had overheard her raised voice. Her anger. Except she had been two hallways away from him. She shook her head. Eyed Evan. "We can discuss this later. No! We don't need to discuss this at all!" She headed for the holding cell. "Get out of my way! Now!" She shoved past the guards, swinging the case like a machete. She entered the room. Headed for the cell where John stood, watching her. "Carson, stop!" she called as the doctor was nearby, preparing a tray of injections.

John's lips quirked as the doctor froze, turning to her. John smiled as Moira advanced to him. Amused at her fierceness. Aroused. His Moira.

She stood at the door. Assessing him as he neared. "John. I'm fine. Relax. John, do you trust me?"

"Absolutely, Moira," he assured.

"Okay then. I think I know what's happening to you. I'm sorry, I should have realized it sooner. But it will be okay now, John. You just have to trust me."

He eyed the case she held. "Another treatment?"

"Yes. The last one, John. I've run countless comparisons over the last few days. Your responses to the various treatments and their efficacy versus your own antibodies natural resistance to any foreign substances and I've realized that we have gone about this all wrong."

"Wrong? Are you serious, Moira?" Carson asked, staring at her.

"Yes. No more. We don't need to stop it."

"Excuse me?" Carson asked, blue eyes widening in surprise.

"You heard. We need to speed it along. We need to allow it to happen. You can't stop evolution, Carson, no matter what. Instead of suppressing it we need to allow it to happen. The treatments have only hampered it, altered it, transformed it into something it was never supposed to be."

"And if he turns into a Wraith?" Carson challenged, unconvinced.

"He won't."

"How can you be sure?"

"The evidence. This is not a virus. Not at all! What happened to John before won't happen if we stop those treatments!"

"No, love. It's too risky. We can't risk an adverse reaction like the last time. No, we will alter the treatments yet again and then proceed to–"

"No." John's voice was quiet, but forceful. All looked at him. His gaze was locked on Moira.

"God you are sexy when you talk all sciencey," he teased, voice low, making her briefly smile. He sobered. "Whatever Moira says. Do. Whatever she thinks is best. Do."

"There are still security concerns and the–" Evan began.

"Not to mention medical concerns that none of us can predict! No, love. I'm sorry. First we will try the treatment I have developed and then see if it can halt the–"

"No! Carson, you're not listening! You...no!" She struggled as Evan pulled her back from the cell. The door opened, the force field dropping. "No!"

The marines fired. The stun blasts shot John backwards, backwards. He fell to the floor, groggy. Carson entered the cell, rolling a gurney. "Quickly now, lads. On three. Then we will inject the first dosage."

"No! Carson...Carson, okay. Let me help you then," Moira temporized, as the marines hauled John's body off the floor and onto the gurney. They securely strapped him to it. Exited. Evan freed Moira. She glared at him, entered the cell. Carson had his back to her, setting up the IV. Prepping the serum. Moira set her case next to his. "I've got this. Can you set up the IV?"

"All right, love. If this doesn't work we will try it your way," he soothed. Stepped aside to set up the IV stand. Attach the long tube. "Good Lord! He's still awake! I'll need a sedative before we proceed."

Moira turned her back on him, on everyone. Quickly she switched vials. Heard Carson's consternation. Ignored it as she replaced Carson's serum with her own. She grabbed the sedative. "Here...I'm sorry, Carson."

"Oh, that's all right, love, we can disagree and still...oh!" The doctor stared as she stabbed him with the sedative. A mild dose that nevertheless made him sink to his knees.

"Carson? What the...Moira!" Evan shouted, but she tapped the syringe. Moved to John. He was staring at her. The padded restraints keeping him in place. "Easy, John. It will be over soon, I promise." She rolled up his sleeve, injected the serum.

"Moira! Stop! What in God's name are you doing?" Evan flared, entering the cell.

Carson was moving to his feet, shaken. "What did you give him?" He eyed the identical cases. The serums. "Oh my God...the, the progenitor's?" he realized.

"Yes. It's the only way to–"

"Good God!" Carson hastened to John's side even as he began to writhe in pain. Body responding to the dose she had given him. "What have you done to him?" John started to convulse. Body straining at the bonds.

"Doc, can you stop it?" Evan asked, moving to the other side of the bed. "Get her out of here!"

"No!" Moira cried as the marines advanced to pull her away from John. "You can't! Don't give him anything else! He has to go through this! You will only make it worse! Let go of me!"

"I can try, but at the very least I can sedate him to..." But Carson swayed on his feet. Evan rushed to catch him before the doctor fell.

"No! Carson, please! It's the only way! We interrupted the process! It has to finish!"

"Get her out of here now!" Evan ordered.

"No! No, let go of me! John! John, don't fight it! Don't fight it! John!"

John felt he was on fire. Liquid fire in his veins. Body a welter of shaking crimson. He heard Moira's voice calling him. Sounding desperate. In pain. She needed him. But she sounded far away. He struggled. Her words infiltrating the pain. Fight. Don't fight it. Don't fight it. He strained, fell back suddenly.

"Let go of me! I'm not leaving him!" Moira cried. Struggling wildly. She punched, kicked, scratched. Fell as an elbow slammed into her face, into her eye.

"Shit! Moira, are you okay?" Evan asked.

Moira scrambled to her feet. Grabbed a gun from a startled marine and pointed it at Evan. "Get the hell out of here! Now!" She fired the weapon in the air. The sound was loud. "Get out!"

John jerked at the sound of the single shot. "Moira!" he growled. Struggling so fiercely a restraint at his wrist snapped. It should have broken his wrist. It didn't.

"No, John! Relax! I'm fine! Get out now! Lock us in! Lock us in or I swear to God I will shoot you!"

"Okay, love. Okay. Do as she says," Carson said.

"Are you crazy? I can't–" Evan protested.

"Do it! We have to trust her! Come on!" Carson was lurching towards the cell door. At a nod from Evan the marines exited.

Evan stared at her. "I hope to God you know what you are doing." He stepped out of the cell, activated the force field.

Moira lowered the gun. Set it aside. "I hope so too," she quietly agreed.


	12. Chapter 12

In Restless Dreams I Walk Alone12

Pain.

He had never felt pain like this. It was worse than any torture. Any accident or injury. Worse than when his body had rejected a massive dose of the enzyme as it tore him up on the insides. Worse than having a Wraith feed on him, draining his life force and his vitality.

He bucked on the table. Only the restraints were holding him in place. Locking his ankles, his wrists into immobility. His writhing body a furious agony as the serum spread through his veins. Invaded his blood stream. His heart was racing. Breath shallow. He was sweating. Shivering. Mind a confusion of images, thoughts, all seared away by the pain. The endless pain.

He briefly wondered if Moira was trying to kill him.

He gritted his teeth, clamping his lips tightly so as not to let the scream escape him. Grunting in rage, in hurt. He fell back onto the bed. Muscles going slack as a wave of coldness swept through him. Chilling him. Beads of sweat turning to ice all over his body. He breathed deeply, grateful for the respite. Kept his eyes closed lest his tears be seen. His weakness.

He would have killed for a glass of water.

But then the pain flared again. The hot agony coursing along him. Changing him. He could feel it. Or curing him. He couldn't tell. He felt his skin shifting. As if pieces were falling off him. Scales dropping. Blueness fading. His fingers curled into his palm. The bump was gone. He felt relief at that. But it was short-lived as another convulsion rocked him. Again he wondered if he was being cured. Or killed. His thoughts shattered into incoherency once more.

Only time would tell.

Voices. John could hear them through a miasma of pain, fog, memory. Moira. He honed in on hers. Felt her tone of assurance. Defiance. She sounded exhausted, but unharmed. No. He detected a tissue of pain under her voice. Worry for him. Love for him. For their sons. He wondered at his sudden perspicacity just from her voice. As if he was inside her. He opened his eyes. Blinked at the lights above him.

"The treatments were wrong, because this wasn't the retro-virus," Moira explained as she stood in the cell. "It presented in a similar fashion, but the Iratus bug cells only exacerbated the initial infection and transformed it. Inhibited the switches and activated others. Dormant cells were interrupted, and the ATA couldn't handle the overload."

"And if we had left him alone the mutations wouldn't have been so severe." Carson sighed, standing outside the cell. He ran a hand over his stubbly face. "I'm so sorry, love! I should have realized, should have listened! It's not Wraith at all, is it?"

"No. It is, but not the Wraith we know now. It's the ATA that is different too." She glanced at John. Saw he was awake. Listening. Eyes on her. As if he could see into her. Through her. She moved to him. Touched his arm. "John, relax. It's nearly over now."

"My...my evolution?" he asked. Quirked a brow.

She briefly smiled. "Yes, colonel."

"How?"

"What? Oh." She briefly touched the purplish bruise under her eye. "An accident. Don't you worry, sweetie. The boys are fussing all over me and they actually cleaned their room without me asking for once!"

He smiled. Grew somber. "Who?"

"I don't know. It was so fast and an accident. Rest easy, John." She turned away, stepped to a table.

John could tell she was lying. She knew. He stared at her. Concentrating. Saw the briefest flash of memory. The man who had hit her. The name surfaced as John recognized him.

Moira looked back at him, rubbing her temple as a pain sparked, was gone. John had closed his eyes. She shrugged, attributing the brief headache to fatigue or hunger. She turned to Carson. "I say an hour. Or two. I will stay with him. Then we will see."

Someone was touching him. Soft, gentle touches on his face, his jaw. A damp cloth on his skin. It was wet. Warm. Gently tugging at his skin. He shifted on the bed. He opened his eyes. Blearily stared at the indistinct form of a woman. "Moira?" he asked. His voice sounded old. Cracked. Her face came into view. Her smile. Love in her brown eyes.

"John. Easy now." She stroked his hair. "I...I'm sorry, John. So sorry..." Tears.

"Huh? It...huh?"

"I'm sorry." She brushed her lips along his.

"Moy? What? Huh? Did it work? Did it..."

"Yes."

"Yes? Yes? Then why..." He stared at her. Puzzled. Tensing. He watched her as she undid each restraint. Movements deliberate. Slow. A swarm of emotion on her face, but she was silent. He flexed sore arms, sore legs. Sat. Swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Was surprised to find himself still in the holding cell. He eyed his hands. Stared.

The mutations were minimal now. Fading, like a bad dream. His hand was almost back to normal. Human. He looked up at her, questions on his lips. Moira wordlessly handed him a mirror. He took it. Fingers brushing hers. Lifted it to his face. Looked at himself in the clear reflection. Braced himself for what he might see. He stared.

His face was nearly back to normal. Nearly human. The scales were gone from his neck, his jaw. Only a faint bluish tinge remained. A hint of his metamorphosis. He touched his cheek, his throat. His dark brown hair was a mess, a riot sticking up every which way. Stubble lined his jaw and he wondered how long he had been in the cell. But his features were his own. Handsome. The strong lines of his face intact. His own. His lips full and perfect. His eyes were green. A vivid green so startling he stared in wonder for a moment. The pupils slitted, then resumed their normal human roundness. He swallowed. Opened his mouth to see his teeth. They were normal. No longer sharp or pointed. He closed his mouth.

Wondered about the rest of him.

He set the mirror aside. Curious at her evident consternation. "Moy?" he asked gently. Moved to his feet. He touched her arm. "Moira? Sweetheart?"

She moved into his arms, hugging him. Silent. Suppressing a sob. His arms encircled her, not certain if her emotion was relief or sorrow. Or both. He was sore, hungry, but felt fine. More like himself than he had in months. He felt the press of her soft curves into him. Yielding to his long, lean frame. His hard lines. He nuzzled her earlobe. Kissed along her throat. She tasted warm, soft. He could sense her sorrow and regret and relief on her skin. "Moira."

She drew back from him. Touched his chest. "How do you feel, John?"

"Fine. Well..." he caved under her stare. "Sore. Sore as hell, actually. And ravenous. But fine otherwise. So? What aren't you telling me, Moira? 'Cause from where I'm standing I look pretty good. More like me than an monster now. Ah. The real story is inside me, isn't it?"

She nodded. Caught for a moment by his beauty. The feel of him. Solid. Warm. "Yes. You...you may feel the same, but you are not the same. Not, not anymore, John."

He was silent, assessing. Thinking. Watching her. "Do you still love me?" he asked at last.

"What? Of course, John! That will never change!" she declared.

"Then that's all that matters." He kissed her. Guiding her mouth to his, her body to his again. He drew back to look past her. "They're coming. Four. Beckett. Lorne. Two marines. Ah. One of the changes?"

"Yes. It's...John...you..." She whirled, but there was no one there. Not yet. She didn't doubt his words. H is observations. John slid his arm around her waist, drawing her to him again.

"It's all right, Moy. Don't you worry," he soothed into her hair.

"Moira! You missed your call-in and we were...oh." Carson paused, then resumed heading into the room. Evan followed with the marines.

"We're done here." Moira extricated herself, moved to the cell door. "You can let us out."

"I can let you out," Evan temporized. "Let's give it another twenty-four. Sir? You'd do the same in my place."

John nodded. "Of course I would, major. Another twenty-four. Just to be certain. Then we can reassess our positions here. Moira, go."

She turned to him. "John? Are you sure? I mean, I mean you are fine now. You are more than fine, aren't you? You–"

"Go, sweetheart. If you need me I will know. Go on. See to our sons. Get some dinner."

She hesitated. Moved back to him. Kissed him. "I'll be back first thing tomorrow, John."

"I know. Go now."

She nodded. Moved to the door. Evan deactivated the force field. She stepped out of the cell, turned to look at John who was standing there. Impassive. Calm. The force field resumed. She glanced at Evan. At the two marines. "He's fine now. There's really no need for this."

"Just a precaution, Moira. Go see to the boys now. I'll take it from here." Once she was gone Evan stepped closer to the cell. "I'm leaving these two guards here, sir. Just in case. You understand, don't you? Carson will take a full blood spectrum just to be absolutely certain you are cured. We can't take any chances, now can we?"

"Of course we can't, major," John amiably agreed.

"It may several days before you are out of there, and can resume any kind of duty," Evan continued. "Then there's the whole murder charge to explore and explain. I'm not sure what Mr. Woolsey is going to do, actually. Moira's visits may be curtailed because of that."

"We'll see. Bring me something to eat. I'm starving."

"Of course, sir. I'll have something brought to you. You're not going to try anything, are you?"

John smiled. Spread his empty hands in front of him. "Me? Nah. I'm fine now. Just bring me dinner and I'll be a perfect gentleman." He stepped to the door, voice lowering. "Just keep the hell away from my wife and my sons."

Evan smiled. "Can't do that, sir. They are under my care at the moment. Johnson! Bring the colonel here something to eat. And if he tries anything, anything at all shoot him. To stun, of course."

"Of course," John agreed. He stepped back from the door. Folded his arms across his chest and waited. Waited. Having all the time in the world now.


	13. Chapter 13

In Restless Dreams I Walk Alone13

He would never be the same.

The old John Sheppard was gone. He could feel that. Yet it didn't disturb him. He had lost parts of himself before this. Moira had eased some of the darkness from him. The guilt. Like a snake sheds his skin he had gradually left his old life, his old ways as he became more involved with her. Trusting her as he had trusted no one else. But this...this was different from that. He had changed physically. Genetically. But not emotionally. His mind was as sharp as ever.

He would not allow anyone to get in his way.

He had watched his wife go. Then Lorne. The two marines took up positions on either side of the doorway, after very carefully giving him a tray of food. He had meekly taken it. Not posing a threat. Docile. Calm. He ate, sitting cross-legged on the floor. Thinking of his wife. Her fierce determination. Her sorrow. Loving her. Wanting her. Trusting her. He turned in on himself, ignoring the guards. Thinking of his sons. Thinking of Atlantis.

Thinking of the future.

He touched the floor. Closed his eyes. Could feel the city's vibrations. Like a heartbeat. He had been connected to the city because of his ATA gene. More so after saving it from sinking. The genetic interfaces which linked him more intimately with it now. He was almost as close as his sons were. Both boys gifted with a double ATA gene. Or cursed. He wasn't sure which. Only knew now he was better able to guide them. Instruct them.

To control the city as he could. And would.

He was more powerful. More connected. He could feel all the lives in the city. If he concentrated he could pick out Moira among the rest. Could pinpoint his sons. Connected to them through genetics. Through love. His little family. The perfect circle. Safe. Secure. Under his care even now. Under the city's care, although they didn't know it. But John knew.

Just as he knew he could easily exit the cell whenever he wanted. He bided his time. Waiting.

Waiting.

Moira sighed. Entered the last bit of data. Her fingers paused on the computer. About to close it when an icon caught her eye. She stared at it. Recalling the odd deja vu she had experienced. The whispers of a nightmare years ago in her mind. Indistinct. But important. She opened the file. Read it carefully. Heart beginning to race, to race. All the different nightmares. Hers. John's. Rodney's. Carson's. Evan's. All had come to pass, in one way or another. Except Evan's. At least not yet. Not yet.

She closed the folder. Shut down the computer. Moved to the dresser. The third drawer where John always kept a handgun. She grasped it. Loaded it. Set it under the pillow of the bed. Just in case. Just in case.

John stood. Touched the wall. The security camera froze on his image. He moved to the force field. Touched it. The electricity sparked, then dissolved. Neither guard noticed, engrossed in their argument. Quiet voices.

Neither saw him exit the cell. Neither heard him move towards them.

Moira stepped to the doorway. "Five minutes, boys, then it's lights out!" She smiled at their groans. They were clad in their pajamas, playing a game. Hair still damp from their baths. Little voices rising and falling as they challenged each other through their respective soldiers. She stood, watching them. Leaning against the wall. Tired. Worried. Relieved that John appeared cured. Was out of pain at last. It had been agony to witness the terrible pain he had suffered, but she had forced herself to watch, to monitor. Would not leave him alone to endure that.

She heard a noise. Turned and stared. John was standing in the room. "John? You...you, you, they let you out?" she stammered.

He stepped to her. "I let myself out, but don't you worry. They still think I'm in there."

"What? How...you..."

"Daddy! Daddy, daddy!" the boys cried, swarming past her to grab their father's legs. All smiles.

John grinned. Hoisted them up into his arms and kissed each one. "Hey, guys! Isn't it time for good little boys to be in bed? Oh...but you're not good little boys, are you?"

"Daddy!" Johnny scolded, laughing.

"Daddy home!" Seamus exclaimed.

"Daddy, daddy, are you all better now?" Johnny asked.

"Daddy smell!" Seamus remarked, making a face.

John laughed, carried them into their room. "Yes, I am all better now. And yes, buddy, I do smell. I need a shower real bad, huh? Silly boys! Here we go, little soldiers." He set them on their bed. Tucked them under the blankets and sat close. Eying them. He could feel Moira standing behind him. Her love and concern. Her questions. "Everything's fine now, boys. Daddy is home. All better. And will smell better too." They giggled. "Ha ha. Now go to sleep, boys. Tomorrow we can do whatever you want, okay?"

"Okay, daddy! Tomorrow we can have pizza and beer!" Johnny declared.

John laughed. "That's right, son. For everyone."

"I love daddy!" Seamus declared, springing up to hug his father.

John returned the hug, kissed the child. Settled him back into the bed. "And I love Seamus. And Johnny. And mommy. Now go to sleep, buddy." He stood. Smiled at them. Turned to see Moira watching, a smile on her face. Tears glittering in her eyes. "Moy." He moved into the other room, waited.

Moira followed, caught his arm. "John? How did you...when did you...John, John, I–"

He turned to her and kissed her. Pulling her into his arms. He drew back. Smiled. "So many questions, baby. Relax." He glanced at the doorway. Could hear the boys. Their excited voices. "Make sure they go to sleep now. I really do need a shower." He tenderly touched her face. Her cheekbone. Fingers moving over the purplish bruise under her eye.

"John...I...I'm fine," she stammered. "An accident, I told you. That's all. How did you–"

"No." He kissed her. Ran his mouth up along the bruise. Drew back to stare into her brown eyes. "Go. Ease the boys into sleep." He stepped to the bathroom. Shut the door.

Moira stared after him. Alarmed. Startled. Enamored. She moved to the other room. The boys stopped talking. Appeared guilty but happy. She smiled, sat on their bed. "All right, loves. Let's have the questions and then we need to go to sleep. All right?"

John stepped out of the bathroom. Nimble as a cat he exited the room. There was one loose end he had to tie up, before he could resume his life. Keeping his wife safe. His sons safe. Protecting and nurturing his perfect circle.

He paused. Touched the wall. Relayed his request. The city answered with a purring thought. He smiled. Sniffed the air. Caught the wafting odor of aftershave. He moved at lightning speed.

"Mommy, mommy, daddy better?" Seamus asked.

"Yes, honey. Daddy is all better now," she soothed.

"Mommy, daddy don't feel Wraith," Johnny observed.

"Doesn't," she corrected. Eyed her older son. "Daddy doesn't feel like a Wraith anymore? What does he feel like?"

The boy considered. "Like daddy. But more than daddy. The city says so. I...I don't know..."

"All right, darling. You're right. Daddy is daddy but he has some new stuff too. He is all better now. That's all you need to know. He's your father and he loves you. I love you."

"Mommy, why was daddy sick?" Johnny asked.

"Daddy can't get sick!" Seamus declared.

"Daddy had an, an infection, but it's clear now. Don't you worry. Everything is fine now. Just relax. Go to sleep. Tomorrow you will spend all day with daddy. Won't that be fun?"

"Yes, mommy!"

"Yay mommy!"

She smiled. Kissed each one. "Go to sleep now." She stood suddenly. Noting the silence. There was no water running. Nothing but silence in the other room. No sounds of John at all. She quickly tucked in the boys. "Go to sleep now. Everything will be back to normal. Goodnight, boys."

"Goodnight, mommy," Johnny responded.

"Goodnight daddy!" Seamus called.

Evan frowned. Tapped his earpiece. "What do you mean he's not there? Morrison was supposed to be at his post ten minutes ago!"

"He's not responding, sir. We can't find him," a marine reported.

"Shit. Sheppard?" Evan asked.

"Still in his cell, sir. Look."

Evan crossed the control room. Eyed the monitor. A prone figure in a cloak was curled on the bed in the holding cell. The two guards were standing at the doorway. Quietly talking. Nothing appeared amiss. But Evan scowled. "Great. Keep an eye on him. All teams, let's do a quick perimeter sweep for Morrison. Just in case."

"Acknowledged, sir. He's probably just banging some piece of...sorry, sir," the lieutenant appeared contrite under Evan's glare.

"Whatever. Let's just find him, shall we?"

Moira stepped out of the room, closing the door behind her. Heart hammering. But she calmed. John was sitting on the bed, his back to her. He hadn't showered. Hadn't even undressed yet. He was staring out the window. She licked her lips. Hesitating. Neared slowly. Step by careful step. Uncertain. "John? You...you didn't shower?"

"No. I changed my mind." He stood, turning to her. A simple, graceful but swift motion. He smiled at her. "I want you, Moira. Now. Just us. Get undressed." He began to remove his clothing. His gaze locked on her all the while.

Moira swallowed. Glanced round the room. She moved to the wall panel and dimmed the lights. Stepped back to the bed. Trying not to look at him. She pulled down the blankets. Smoothed them. A slight tremble to her hands as she did so. She was more apprehensive now than when he had been mutated. He was almost more alien now than when he had been closer to becoming a Wraith. It was the way he looked at her. Right into her. Through her. The way he moved. All stealth and grace. She tensed. Abruptly freed her hair. Abruptly yanked off her t-shirt.

John smiled, watching her. He could see the tension, in every line of her body. The lights were dim but the lack of illumination was hardly an impediment now. His gaze traced every curve of her body. As she removed her shoes. As she removed her pants. Stood in her underwear a moment, hesitating.

She gasped, nearly jumped feeling his hand run up her bare back. She shivered. His touch gentle. Familiar as his calloused fingertips treaded along her spine. He undid the bra. Drew it off her. Kissed her bare shoulder. Breath warm. Lips soft. Moist. Inviting. His hands slid down to her pelvis. Caressing. Tugging at her panties. He slid them down, down. They slithered to the floor and she awkwardly stepped out of them. Still not facing him.

His gaze perused her body. He grasped her rear. Squeezed gently. "Pert little ass," he muttered fondly. "Turn to me now. Moira. My Moira."

She swallowed. Did so. Staring at him. Staring at the healed perfection of his body. Only traces of the mutations remained. Hints of blue skin. Remnants of scales along his side, his waist. He was long, lean. Muscular. The silver dog tags glinting in his dark, curling chest hair. Arms and legs healed of all lesions. Fully human. Completely male as his erection was straining towards her. Eager. Hot. Hard. She met his gaze. "John?" she whispered.

His gaze was roving. Taking in all of her. His brilliant green eyes darkening a moment. Seeing the faint scratches that were healing. They were all over her body. Crisscrossing her breasts, her waist. Her mound, her thighs. "Moira. I'm sorry."

"You...you..."

But he kissed her. Guided her onto the bed, onto her back. She tensed under him. Fingers tightening on his arm. He kissed her again. Slow seductions of his mouth. His body on hers. "You don't have to fear me, Moy. You never have to fear me. Never." He ran his mouth all over her. Seducing. Tasting. Healing. Taking in everything. Even the fact that she was pregnant. He had impregnated her while he had been transforming. He could sense the tiny spark of life within her. From him.

And could end it if need be. To protect her. To protect them all.


	14. Chapter 14

In Restless Dreams I Walk Alone14

He knew her in ways he never thought possible.

He remembered a similar experience with Chaya. The ascended Ancient who had taken him to all kinds of new levels of intimacy. A true joining of minds, feelings, thoughts. But that had been more ephemeral than this. Less tactile. A wash of light and loss of self. More of the mind than of the body. And he preferred the body. Most definitely preferred the body.

He never knew sex could be this intoxicating.

Every motion of their bodies, joining, joining. Every little movement from the most intimate as he thrust into her. To her fingers gliding on his bare back. To his mouth catching hers in soft kiss after soft kiss. His body brushing along hers. Every nerve sensitive to each touch. The roughness of his chest hair on her hardened nipples. His hips grinding into hers. To every little sound. Every little reaction, response. Desire. To every need fulfilled. Every pleasure granted. Knowing where to move, how to move. How fast, how slow. How often. Finding every physical pleasure point and sweeping them both along in a tide of passion and power and possession.

Never tiring. Never ceasing to create orgasm after orgasm.

"Sir!"

Evan ran to the summons. Stopped. Men surrounded a body in the shadows. Dumped there like so much refuse. Trash. He approached. Squatted as the men parted, muttering uneasily to themselves. "Morrison," he needlessly identified. The man's neck was broken. Head lolling at an unnatural angle. Bones snapped like a twig. He stood. "Shit. Sheppard."

"Impossible, sir! He's locked in his cell!" one noted. Voice rising in panic.

"Is he? Are you sure? Who else would want Morrison dead?" Without another word Evan headed down to the holding cell. His grip on his P90 tightening. Tightening.

Tightening.

Moira cried out. The tide of orgasm took her. Literally took her breath away and she gasped, gulping as oxygen once more filled her lungs. She arched, clung as John thrust, thrust into her. Deep motions that were stroking every sensitive spot. Bringing her over and over. And over as if he would make love with her all night with no respite, no stopping.

She wondered if he was trying to kill her.

It was almost too much. Too much pleasure as she pulsed and writhed under him. Helpless as yet another wave took her. Cast her into almost violent vibrations, her clitoris throbbing. Her muscles tensing around the big, hard length of his continual penetration. Whimpering, gasping at the sexual rush. The sexual ride.

John groaned, shifting yet again. A new angle. A brief respite but he was hard again. Rock hard and eager to take her. He kissed her hard. Tongue plying, playing as he ruthlessly took her again. Drowning in her every need, every want, every pleasure. Drowning in his own. Pleasure multiplying until he knew it was verging on the threshold of pain. He came in a rush, grunting and swearing as she called out his name over and over. And over.

"Lieutenant! Lieutenant! Oh shit!" The man recoiled as the other man fell from his standing position.

"Are they–"

"Alive! Just...just knocked out!" Each guard was unconscious but unharmed. As if asleep. There wasn't a mark on either of them. As if they had somehow fallen asleep at their posts, on their feet.

Evan swore. Ran to the cell. The force field was still active. A blue haze revealing a bed. With a cloak spread on it. But no body under it. He opened the cell. Ran to the bed, having to see. He touched the empty cloak. "Son of a bitch! He somehow froze the camera! He somehow got out of here completely undetected! Damn it!" He ran out of the cell. "All teams! Find Sheppard and isolate him! Take him down! Stun at maximum!"

"Sir? Why would be kill Morrison?" one asked, alarmed, still kneeling by the prone body of his comrade.

"Because he hit Moira, although it was by accident and he...oh God. Moira! She'll be his next target!" Without another word Evan ran from the room.

Moira fell back, breathing heavily. A quivering, sweaty surrender as the sex overwhelmed. Inundated her every nerve. From head to toes. Tears flooded her eyes. "John! Oh John!" she croaked. Swallowed. "Strawberries!"

He kissed her. Smiled at the utterance of their safe word. He slid out of her. Rolled onto his back, breathing deeply. "Fuck. Fucking sweet!" He wiped his brow. Sated at last. "Moira. My Moira." He relaxed. Exhausted. Happy. He looked at her. "You okay, baby?"

"John...you...you...sweetie..." she couldn't form a sentence. Couldn't speak. She turned her head to stare at him. Blinking back tears at the intense pleasure. "You..." She wiped her hair from her flustered face. Saw his gaze wandering and turned on her side towards him. About to speak when she glanced down. Stared. Touched a breast. The scratches were gone. Every one of them gone. Her skin was smooth. Unmarked. "How..."

"So fucking beautiful, baby, and mine." He smirked as she yanked the covers over them. Concealing their nudity. He looked over at the door suddenly. Listening.

Moira snuggled against him. Hid her face against his chest. "John...John..."

"Easy, baby. Easy," he soothed, arm going round her. He kissed her brow. Stroked her back. "Fuck. This is new to me too, you know. Damn...talk about exuberance." But he sounded pleased. Proud. He kept his gaze on the door. Except he was drifting to a pleasant slumber.

Moira cuddled, clung to him. Startled. Amazed. "I...my God, John! You...oh!" She drew back and gingerly touched the bruise under her eye. Except it was no longer tender. Not sore. And she knew it was gone. That somehow he had healed that too. "How..."

"You tell me. I'm no scientist," he remarked lazily. Drew her back to him. "Go to sleep, Moy. I'm right here. I'll always be here. And no one touches you. No one."

Evan ran. As he ran he replaced his Wraith stun gun with a handgun. He clicked off the safety. A nightmare was wafting in his memory. Indistinct. As if he had done this before, at some other time. Had run to save Moira. Had burst into their room to find her in bed with a mutated Colonel Sheppard. And had done the only thing he could do to save her. To save her sons.

He had killed Colonel Sheppard.

He pounded down the hallways, ignoring the chatter in his ear as his teams spread all over the city in a vain search to find their commanding officer. A man who had killed twice now. A man who would surely kill again. A man who was a clear and present danger to everyone around him. If he could escape a holding cell this easily who knew what he could do? With his genetic interface to the city, his ATA gene, his transformed cells he could be capable of things even the Ancients couldn't do. And there was no way to stop him.

Except one. One way.

And Evan would have to be the one to do it.

John dozed. Content. Warm under the blankets. Moira in his arms, snug. Secure. Naked with him after the most incredible sex either had experienced. He would reassure her. Try to tone down the intensity until she was more comfortable. More confident. He wondered if the sex would always be like this now. His lips smirked at the thought. And they hadn't even tried anything kinky. Yet. He brushed his lips across her cheek. Consoling. Loving. Nothing would ever part her from him. Nothing.

He could feel his sons sleeping in the next room. They were safe. Protected. His. Nothing would touch them either. He would be teaching them soon. How to talk to the city. How to interact with it. It was their destiny, after all. And nothing would change that either.

He pondered his transformation. His evolution. Into something other. Something more than John Sheppard had ever been. Could ever be, if not for that piggyback gene. Mostly human, but something more now. Something better. Stronger. Smarter.

He would never leave Atlantis.

Moira snuggled. Unable to sleep after the intense sex. Losing herself in his warmth. His long, lean body. His strength. His love. Her John. The same, but not. Her husband. The father of her children. The military commander of Atlantis. But now so much more, so much more. She pondered when to tell him. About all the changes to his DNA. The evolution of the species. Of this one man she loved with all of her heart and would never leave.

No matter what happened or what he had done.

She wondered how he had gotten out of his cell. Wondered at his stronger connection to the city. To her. To her sons. He knew he would regret the killing of Katie. She would have to ease his guilt and grief over it. Help him repair his friendship with Rodney. With the rest of his team. But she knew things would never be exactly the same. They couldn't be. Not after that.

But nothing would change between the two of them. Ever.

Johnny and Seamus slept soundly. Momentarily roused by the noises from the other room. Odd noises, but familiar to Johnny's ears as the two little boys sat in their bed.

"What that?" Seamus asked, startled.

"Nothing. Mommy and daddy make happy sounds."

"Huh? Happy sounds?"

"Yeah. Daddy said it's a game mommy and daddy play. We can't go to them unless it is really, really urgent. Daddy said so."

"Oh. Okay. A game?"

"Yeah. A game for mommy and daddy only. Go to sleep, Seamus."

"Okay, Johnny." The boys reclined. Snuggled with their respective toys. "Johnny?"

"Yes, Seamus?"

"Is daddy really better now? All better?"

"Yes. Daddy is better now. Better. The city said he is better," the older boy assured the younger.

"Oh. Okay. Johnny, when I hear city?"

"Soon, Seamus. When you are older," the boy advised.

"Oh. Okay. 'Night, Johnny!"

"Goodnight, Seamus."

A noise.

John woke instantly, sat up, eying the door as it swished open. Silent, but he could hear the workings of the mechanics behind it all the same. Moira scrambled to sit, hiding her nakedness behind the blankets. She reached under the pillow and grabbed the gun.

Evan rushed into the room. Paused a moment. Aghast at finding them in bed together. Naked in bed together. As if nothing horrible had happened. He drew his weapon in one fluid motion, aiming it at John's heart. He just sat there, neutral expression on his face. But his eyes slitted with a dangerous intensity. An alien intensity that only hardened Evan's resolve.

Moira raised her weapon, aiming it with steady hands at her friend. She had known this would happen. Had read about the nightmare and had been prepared. She wasn't surprised when the door had slid open. She had reviewed the scenario over and over in her mind. Knew what she had to do protect her husband. To protect her sons. Knew how to save him. At all costs.

John glanced at her, surprised by the action. Momentarily thrown. A second's hesitation to react. To prevent. That was all it would take. A fraction of a second. A single motion.

He did nothing.


	15. Chapter 15

In Restless Dreams I Walk Alone15

The shot rang out.


End file.
